QAF Babies
by violette7
Summary: Justin's father loses the store, thrusting the Taylor family into rocky financial waters. Justin must transfer to Carnegie High, a public high school, where he meets a hot football player, Carnegie High's star quarterback, and falls madly in love.
1. First Kisses

A/N: For this fic, Brian and Justin are the same age. I'll include the usual suspects (Daphne and Emmett) and as many of the other QAF characters as I can.

I'm so nervous. I'm starting at a new school today, a public school. Not to say that I'm not glad to bid St. James farewell. I have no idea what to expect, but it has to be better than St. James. There, I'd been ostracized, bullied, and ridiculed ever since the Washington DC trip in 8th grade. Chris Hobbes, currently St. James's star quarterback and one of my suitemates on the trip, had snuck a bottle of Jack Daniels into his suitcase. He'd stolen it from his dad's liquor cabinet. While our other two suitemates were spying on the girls, Chris and I sat on the balcony talking, laughing, and drinking. When we were good and sloshed, the jerk (not that I thought he was a jerk then. Then, I thought, as my mother would say, that he hung the moon) frenched me. My first kiss. It was perfect…until our suitemates caught us. Okay, it wasn't perfect (he was a bit of a sloppy kisser), but he'd started rubbing my groin, which I'd liked very much. But if it had been perfect, it would have been ruined beyond all repair when he jumped up, yelled, "Get off me, faggot," and kicked me in the ribs (I'm still astounded that he managed to remain upright that long). The first sally in my nearly three-year-long hazing (minus the consent and the possibility of eventual social acceptance). If only Daphne were going with me, my life would be perfect. Well, maybe not perfect. That would require a hot boyfriend. But not a football player. I'm so off football players. Not that I'm really 'on' any type of guy. That lovely chestnut depicts my first and last 'sexual' experience (unless you count masturbation and wet dreams).

I walk down the hallway, trying to act cool, which I'm anything but, in any sense of the word. I remember something my mom told me about how to avoid being mugged when traveling. "Don't look up and around in wonder. Look straight ahead, but not at anything in particular." I know this situation is a little different, but high schoolers and criminals in "the big city" have one thing in common for sure. They look for people showing signs of weakness and difference and then attack, mercilessly.

So I try looking ahead, but at nothing in particular, my face impassive. Unfortunately, my mom didn't warn me about the danger of affected disinterest, that is, the danger of colliding with someone not directly in front of you. Apparently, two football players had been tossing a ball between them as they walked down the hall toward me, and, when the ball went sailing across the hall (to the right), one of them followed, careening in my direction. He catches something, alright, but not the ball. He slams into me so hard that we fly through an open door and into an empty classroom (thankfully, no one pays us any attention). We end up on the floor, and I end up in his arms and on top of him.

I expect him to push me off and start yelling, but he just smiles, his beautiful hazel eyes dancing, and informs me playfully, "My pop always said blonds were frisky, but, really, pouncing on me like that is a bit over the top. You'd better be careful. This is how pretty young things get a reputation for being easy. After that, you can forget about getting the meet-the-parents invite. And what respectable boy would take you to prom?"

I just stare at him, blushing, my mouth open and my eyes wide. (Did he just call me a 'pretty young thing?')

The boy (who I now notice has chestnut hair and bronze skin and smells like sweat and cigarettes, a combination I never thought pleasant until this very moment) flips me onto my back and kisses my lips gently (I'd managed to get ahold of myself sufficiently to close my mouth). Then he jumps up, collects the wayward ball, and heads out into the hall. A moment later, he pops his head back in and drawls, "Later, Sunshine." I just lie on the floor, flushing with pleasure as I remember how soft his lips felt and how deep yet melodic his voice was when he called me 'Sunshine.' "Sunshine," I whisper. I really like the sound of that.

A squeal draws me out of my reverie. I sit straight up. That's a Daphne squeal! When I see her standing in the doorway, in regular clothes (rather than her St. James uniform), I scramble to my feet.

I ask incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

Daphne runs toward me and throws her arms around my neck. She exclaims, "I begged my mom to let me come here. At first, she said no, but, when I turned on the waterworks, she gave in, though she said I have to see a tutor a few nights a week 'to supplement the rudimentary education offered in public school.'"

We jump up and down a few times and giggle. My life is now officially perfect! I escaped St. James, Daphne's here with me, and I met (and kissed) my future boyfriend. And man is he hot! I guess that means I'm back 'on' football players.

Literally and figuratively.


	2. In or Out of the Closet

Brian Kinney. As I discovered this morning in home ec, my future boyfriend's name is Brian Kinney. I "met" him briefly yesterday before homeroom and then saw him pass by my home ec classroom later that morning. We exchanged a glance and a smile. It seems that he had a study hall scheduled for that period, but then switched it to home ec before homeroom. (Is it possible that he made this change so that he could see me every day? The very thought causes my heart to beat triple time.) All this I learned when he sauntered into my classroom, handed a note to my teacher, Mrs. Newman, and answered her questions. Now he's sitting next to me at one of the six large grey tables in the room. I'm happy to say that we have the table to ourselves.

Already I can see the difference between Carnegie High and St. James. St. James has six different home ec classes, whereas Carnegie High has only one. The one class covers the same basic areas that the six separate classes do at St. James (nutrition, sewing, household management, and child care), though in much less detail, I imagine. When Mrs. Newman isn't watching, I ask Brian, "Why would you take this class? Aren't you taking shop?"

He rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand and stares at me for a couple of minutes, smiling, but not saying a word. I blush and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, he replies succinctly, "Yes."

Then he stops leaning on his hand and tilts his head. He asks, in a sultry voice (or so I think), "What's your real name, Sunshine?"

I smile. "Justin. Justin Taylor."

He repeats slowly, "Justin Taylor." My name has never sounded sexier.

I laugh uncomfortably and then whisper (Mrs. Newman had already shot us a couple warning looks), "You never answered my first question."

In response, he asks playfully, "Why shouldn't I take home ec? Where else will I learn how to cook my man a hearty meal, balance his checkbook, care for all our adopted babies, and darn his socks?"

I stare at him blankly. After a minute or two, he chuckles. "Maybe I just want to ogle your hot ass as you bend over to put cookies in the oven…"

I look away quickly, blushing a deep red. I glance around nervously, worried that our classmates had heard his last remark.

Brian teases, "So why are you taking home ec? Do you want to learn how to cook me hearty meals?"

I reply, "Yes" without thinking. When he raises an eyebrow, I correct myself quickly, sputtering, "Uh, I mean, I want to learn to cook. My mom said she'd teach me how to make some of her signature dishes after I learn the basics here."

Brian just smiles and nods as though he doesn't believe me.

The bell rings. We just naturally fall into step with each other, heading toward the lunch room.

I look around and then ask shyly, "Aren't…aren't you worried that people will know?"

He inquires, "Know what?" innocently.

But I know he understands me perfectly, so I give him another blank stare. He smiles and then replies, "No one believes I'm gay. No one believes that any gay person would talk so openly about it. Especially a football player."

I stammer, "But…but aren't they suspicious because you don't have girlfriends?"

Brian shakes his head. "Nope. I tell everyone that I would never date a girl from this school. Of course, I wouldn't date a girl from any school or any girl at all, but most don't need to know that. The only people who need to know are the people I'm fucking (he pauses and shoots me a predatory look) or planning to fuck."

I turn a bright red, from my head down to my toes. Brian laughs, whispers in my ear, "You're so much fun to embarrass, Sunshine…and incredibly hot when you blush," and then veers toward the jock table. I just stare after him in wonder.


	3. Lunchroom Reflections

I head to the lunch line. It's long, snaking out from the medium-sized room where the food is served halfway across the huge dining area. When I reach the end of the line, I turn back to look at Brian. He's sitting on a heating vent next to the lunch table, with his legs extended and his feet resting on the bench, talking to a few other football players, judging by their build. He looks so relaxed as he makes jokes and laughs, occasionally punching his companions on the arm or patting them roughly on the back. They all look up at him with awe and respect. Each one of them, when telling stories to the group, actually speaks to Brian and looks to him for approval, as though he alone knows what's cool.

I frown. My future boyfriend is king of the jocks, while I'm a shy artsy type, whose circle of friends never extended far beyond Daphne, well, not since 6th grade. That's when the social hierarchy began to emerge, when kids started snubbing certain other of their friends, friends they'd had since kindergarten, in favor of kids they barely knew, kids who were less awkward, more attractive, and/or better skilled at sports. I sigh. Brian is way out of my league.

Suddenly, Brian looks up. Our eyes meet. I freeze, and my heart begins to race. I can't breathe. Part of me wants to look away (in shame, for he'd just caught me staring at him), but I'm paralyzed, and, as uncomfortable is the weight of his gaze, it's also causing my body to tingle, which I like very much. He smiles softly. His eyes are bright and playful. God, he's so beautiful. I nearly swoon. Daphne chooses that moment to approach me. She bounds up and greets me cheerfully. "Hi, Justin! Whatcha looking at?"

I cast my eyes down right away, but not quickly enough. She groans, "Not another football player, Jus! I thought you learned your lesson with Chris."

Without thinking, I snap, "Brian is nothing like Chris!"

Daphne laughs. "Touchy, touchy. You must really like this guy!"

I just sigh. Fortunately, Daphne and I are next in line. The food distracts her, so by the time we are sitting down at a table, she's completely forgotten about Brian. The rest of the lunch period is uneventful. The food is dreadful, particularly the cheese soup, which smells like dirty socks, and Brian remains focused on his friends the entire rest of the time.

Daphne chats the whole time we're eating, but I don't hear a word. I can't get the last thing Brian said to me out of my head: "The only people who need to know are the people I'm fucking or planning to fuck." Remembering that statement and the sexy voice with which he uttered it causes my entire body to flush. It also scares the hell out of me and sends me into an insecurity tailspin. I wonder how many boys he's fooled around with. Just thinking about the number and type of boys Brian has been with has me overwhelmed with nervousness and jealousy. I'm sexually inexperienced, awkward, and generally unpopular. He could have anyone he wanted, male or female. What would Brian, probably the most popular boy at Carnegie High, want with me?

The sharp peal of the bell pulls me out of my head. I half-heartedly mutter a goodbye to Daphne (she has to get all the way to the other side of the building before the next bell), drop the fork with which I'd been pushing my food around on my plate (I was too preoccupied to eat), and move to empty and return my tray. When I get back to the table, I reach for my bag. Sitting on top of it is a folded piece of paper with Sunshine scrawled on it. I look around nervously, but then pick it up and unfold it. In the blink of an eye, my mood does a 180. I smile a smile so bright it could blind someone. The note's from Brian. It reads, "Meet me in the parking lot after last period. I drive a beat up red truck. I'll be waiting—B."

I literally float to my next class.


	4. Chemistry

It's last period. My chemistry teacher drones on and on about different kinds of bonds. I sigh, rest my cheek on my hand (my elbow is on the desk), and continue to watch the clock. I wonder which is stronger: covalent bonds, where atoms share electrons, or ionic bonds, where one atom donates an electron to the other and the two atoms then experience a mutual attraction due to their opposite charges. I'm hoping it's the latter. I can't help but wonder whether all relationships between opposites involve unequal power. Must one party always give more? I consider asking my teacher about the varying strengths of the different bond types when I realize that only two minutes of class remain. I shiver in anticipation. I'm so nervous that I feel a little faint. I slowly unzip my book bag, so my teacher doesn't hear, and place my notebook, which I hadn't even opened, and my pen inside. The second the bell rings, I'm out the door.

I'm ten feet from the door leading to the parking lot when Daphne corners me. She's grinning like the Cheshire cat. She giggles. "I just saw the cutest guy! I couldn't help but stare at him all period. Finally, right near the end, he looked over at me, and our eyes met!"

She sighs, leans against a locker, and half-says, half-moans, "He smiled at me…"

Then she stands up straight and pushes me, exclaiming, "He smiled at me! Can you believe it?"

I chuckle and rub my chest. "Come on, Daph, don't hit so hard!"

She giggles. "Sorry!"

Eying the door, I pat her on the shoulder and say, "Look, I need to go meet someone…"

Daphne's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Who? The football player?"

I implore her with my eyes to speak more softly. She wrinkles her nose and mutters, "Sorry."

"I'll tell you all about it later, but I gotta go, okay?"

She nods. "Okay."

Then when I'm halfway through the door, she calls out, "Don't forget to go long! I'm sure you'll make a great wide receiver…"

I give her a stern look, although I can't help but laugh a little. Then I take a deep breath and start looking for a beat up red truck. I'm trying to act calm, but I'm wound so tight that when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder, I jump. I whirl around, expecting it to be Daphne. I gape when I see that it's Brian.

He looks so relaxed…and hot; the wind has given his hair a sexy ruffled look. He's smirking at me, his hazel eyes shining. It's all I can do to prevent myself from sighing in contentment and grinning like a fool.

"Are you surprised, Sunshine? I thought B was enough of a tipoff…but maybe you get so many notes asking to hook up…"

I cut him off with a kiss. He seems surprised…pleasantly surprised. I turn bright red when I realize what I've done. I step back and look down. I'm so glad that the parking lot is basically empty by then and secretly thank Daphne for delaying me. Brian recovers quickly, takes my book bag from me, and heads to his truck. It's seen better days. Most of it is either rusty or dented, and the paint is chipping in some places. Brian opens the passenger door, sets my bag inside, and then flourishes with his hand. He drawls, "Your chariot awaits."

I grin like a fool and get in. Then Brian leans over me, pulling the seat belt across my chest and buckling it. He's so close that my head is swimming. I'm literally intoxicated by his musky scent. At that moment, I'm certain that ionic bonds are the strongest kind. Absolutely positive. Brian looks up through the rear window, giving me a perfect view of his long slender neck (I itch to draw that and every other part of his body, a thought that causes my pants to grow uncomfortably tight), and, apparently seeing no one around, he brushes his lips against mine. Then he grabs the sides of my face with both hands and kisses me, plunging his tongue deeper and deeper into my mouth. My body goes limp. It feels like Jell-O. Warm Jell-O. I throw my arms around his neck, thread my fingers into his soft chestnut hair, and kiss him back, all the while feeling an intensifying heat flowing throughout my body and a dizziness, both threatening to overwhelm me.

Suddenly, Brian pulls away. My breathing is ragged (I'm happy to observe that his is, too). Brian notices the prominent bulge in my pants and comments, his eyes twinkling, "You may not have been expecting me, but I guess I'll do."

I can't help but huff a laugh. That's the understatement of the century.


	5. First Date

A/N: The exhibition is real (the title, the artists, and the location), but I could only guess what was in it (though I do describe actual works by the artists).

We've been driving for a few minutes. I'm too nervous to speak. The silence is deafening (to me anyway). But he seems quite comfortable travelling in silence. All I can do is peek over at him every once in a while and smile. The second I look at him, all words fly out of my head.

Finally, mercifully, he offers, "So I thought we'd go to the Andy Warhol Museum."

I am officially stunned. I ask incredulously, "What?"

He continues on, seemingly oblivious to my surprise, though he suddenly, unexpectedly, appears anxious. "You're an artist, right?"

I flush with pleasure. "How…how did you know?"

He shrugs and replies nonchalantly, "On my way to practice yesterday, I saw you on the bus. It looked like you were drawing."

In a tiny voice, I inquire, "You noticed me? I didn't…I mean, I wasn't sure you'd even recognize me if you saw me again."

His eyes twinkle as he counters, "You don't think I just go around kissing every cute boy I see, do you?"

He thinks I'm cute! (Yes, I know how unbelievably lame I am.)

I blush. "Well, I mean, no, of course not."

In a more serious tone, he states, "So the Andy Warhol Museum is having a special exhibition of three pop artists from different parts of the world. One combines elements of Maori and Western culture in his work; another, traditional and contemporary Indian art, particularly in terms of religion; and the third, contemporary British and Nigerian culture."

Shocked, I just gape at him. I had assumed that Brian asked me to meet him on a whim, but, clearly, it was no whim. He must have contemplated this...whatever it was...as early as last night. He certainly appeared to have put a great deal of thought into where to take me, what I might like.

Brian is so full of surprises. I guess I don't have him pegged as well as I'd thought.

He seems to find my astonishment amusing, but he has no clue what I'm thinking. He chuckles and declares, "You know, I'm more than just a pretty face…hot body….and perfect hair."

I never once thought that he was a stupid jock. Just too cool to ponder taking a loser like me to a museum. I stammer, "I…I mean…I didn't…"

He smirks, but then says, in a hurt tone, "I hope you didn't think I fuck on the first date. A boy's gotta have some self-respect, make his beaus work for it a little."

I blurt out, "This is a date?"

He looks at me blankly. "Uh, yeah. What did you think it was?"

I blush and shake my head. "To be honest, I didn't know what to think."

He teases, "Were you thrown because I didn't pick you up at your house, offer you pretty flowers, and introduce myself to your parents?"

After a moment's pause, he adds, "Cause I'm really not the flowers type."

I have no words. This is certainly going to be an interesting afternoon.

*****

We're at the Andy Warhol Museum. The exhibition Brian wants us to see is called "Popular Cultures: Installations by Michael Parekowhai, Ravinder Reddy, and Yinka Shonibare." The first part is work by Michael Parekowhai, an artist from New Zealand of Maori and European descent.

Brian approaches a work called Atarangi that looks like a three-armed candlestick. It's made of pieces of wood painted different colors.

Brian tilts his head to the right and left, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Okay. I don't get it."

I chuckle.

Brian turns to face me and raises an eyebrow. "If you have some insight, Sunshine, do share. I am but a dry sponge or, better yet, a dry towel just waiting to absorb your dripping wet wisdom."

Is everything that comes out of his mouth sexual? Or is it just me? His seemingly innocuous metaphor has me thinking about him toweling off my naked body, dripping wet from the shower.

Fuck.

Now something is dripping.

I clear my throat uncomfortably and reply, "The different colored pieces of wood look like Cuisenaire rods (Brian shoots me a tongue-in-cheek expression when I say 'rods,' which causes me to blush and fidget). We used them in my Montessori school to learn mathematical concepts like length, but I think some schools use them to teach language."

I turn toward the piece and continue, "Each, uh, segment is a different length."

I flush when Brian comes up behind me, standing as close to me as possible without actually touching me, and looks over my shoulder.

"White segments are 1cm, red are 2cm…"

Brian interjects, "Then why are the two red rods in this…whatever the hell it is…different lengths?"

"Um, well, they are different shades of red. The light-colored segments are half as long as the dark-colored ones."

I can't help but smile when I look back at Brian and see that he's nodding his head thoughtfully.

Then he says, "If this passes for art, I really should have paid more attention during block time in kindergarten. Who knew that such skills were so marketable?"

I just smile. Then Brian asks, "So what do you think it means?"

"Uh…I'm not sure."

"Give it a whirl."

"Um…okay. The wooden segments form a candelabrum, which signifies light and, by extension, knowledge or wisdom. The segments, taken together, probably represent learning. And…the colors…well, they might indicate race. There's red, yellow, white, and black."

Brian giggles. Yes, actually giggles. "What races are orange, green, and blue?"

I color. But then offer hesitantly, "Aliens?"

That just causes more giggles. When Brian finally gets ahold of himself, he urges, "You were saying?"

I fidget, nervously playing with the fabric of my pants, but reply, "The little 1cm white block sits at the top, in the center, which is ironic because of its small size. It's the highest (or farthest away, farthest removed from the ground, or reality) and the smallest, making it marginal."

Brian huffs a laugh, mutters, "Fucking amazing," leans in (he's still behind me), and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. I look down and smile brightly. I don't know what affects me more, the compliment or the kiss, but I'm suddenly warm all over.

The second part of the exhibition is work by Ravinder Reddy, an artist from India. Brian walks past the sea of strangely bulging head sculptures and makes a beeline for the only one involving sex. I chuckle. This ought to be fun.

The sculpture is called Couple. It's a white man and an Indian woman, naked and embracing. The woman is lying down on her back and the white man is lying on top of her so that his body covers much of hers. Other than faces, the only parts of their bodies we see are arms, legs, and butts, as well as his back and her right breast.

Brian nudges my shoulder and drawls, "So…what do we think?"

I flush with pleasure at his use of 'we.' It probably means nothing, but I like hearing him say it with respect to us.

"The woman's arms are lying flat on the ground beside her head, as though the man is dominating her, but he isn't holding her down. It's more like she's choosing to submit. They are entwined, but their groins aren't touching, and the man looks like he's about to suckle at her breast. I'd say that the "couple" is supposed to represent a mother and child, though clearly they can't be related."

Brian grimaces. "And I thought Mikey was bad."

"Mikey?"

"Oh…he's my best friend. He's a mama's boy. But this guy is a super freaky mama's boy."

I can't help but smile at Brian's characterization.

Hesitantly (I'm not sure I want to know), I ask, "So what do you think?"

Brian furrows his brow for a moment. Then he declares, "He's got a decent ass, all plump and rounded, (Brian leans back to check out my ass, causing me to turn bright red) like yours, but bigger; however, he needs to hit the gym, and hard, and his face leaves A LOT to be desired."

I laugh. Loudly. For several minutes. The whole time, Brian just stares at me with an amused look on his face. When I finally recover, he smirks and inquires, "So what do you think? Am I a budding art critic?"

Fuck, he's adorable!

The third part of the exhibition is work by Yinka Shonibare, an artist born to Nigerian parents, but in England.

Among his various photographs and 'sculptures,' I see a pair of shoes sitting in a Plexiglas cube. The work is called Cha, Cha, Cha. They are leopard print with white and black spirals at the toes. One shoe is upright, and the other is lying on its side.

Brian stares at the piece for a couple of minutes, but then turns to me, his eyes wide. With that look, he seems to be asking for my opinion. I shrug and shake my head.

I admit, "I got nothing."

Brian smiles. A soft beautiful smile. Then he looks at the piece again. After staring at it for a long moment, he says, "Debbie would love those shoes."

"Debbie?"

"Oh…that's Mikey's mom. She has…uh…unique taste in fashion."

I giggle, trying to imagine the type of woman, a mother of a teenage son, who would wear those shoes. I really can't.

Then Brian nearly knocks me off my feet with what he proposes.

With dancing eyes and a sexy grin, he drawls, "So shall we head down to the soda shop and share a malt?"

I exclaim, "What?"

Brian doesn't even blink. He inquires evenly, "Isn't that what's supposed to come next?"

I giggle. "Maybe in the 1950s. Did these shoes somehow warp you back there?"

Brian smiles. His eyes are so warm. Then he takes me into his arms, nudges my nose, and kisses my lips gently. I'm hypnotized and half-puddle. Unfortunately, my bliss is rudely interrupted by a loud gasp. We both turn to look and see a short plump blond woman wearing a shapeless plaid dress. Brian unsuccessfully attempts to choke back his laughter, and I'm having trouble biting back a grin. She's carrying all kinds of brochures, and she has a fancy hair-do, her hair falling around her face in big curls, like from hot rollers, and all frozen in place. I wonder how many coats of hair spray she used.

The woman takes offense to our levity, of course, and sputters, "I…I should call security!"

We hadn't done anything wrong, but the last thing I need is for museum security guards to out me to my parents. Brian must be thinking the same thing because, before she can alert anyone, he grabs my hand and takes off running. We run all the way back to his truck. Then we are looking at each other, laughing and panting, both trying unsuccessfully to catch our breath. Suddenly, Brian's eyes take on a serious expression, growing dark and intense. I feel like I just got the wind knocked out of me.

Brian pulls me into his arms roughly (by the waist) and captures my lips in a savage kiss that sets my body to trembling. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back passionately, desperately. Waves of heat burn through me, causing me to feel such intense pleasure that it borders on pain.

Then, just like that, it's over, the moment shattered by the shrill ringing of my cell phone. Brian breaks our kiss, leaning back against the truck and sighing heavily.

I curse and answer it.

"Justin, where are you? You were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago! Well, wherever you are, get your butt back here! We're meeting your grandparents for dinner in half an hour."

Fuck.

"Ok, mom."

I press the end button and sigh. "I have to go home."


	6. Home Alone

I press the end button and sigh. "I have to go home."

Brian's sigh mirrors my own. But then he smiles a most assuredly fake smile and claps his hands, and in a thoroughly amusing mockery of enthusiasm, he declares brightly, "Alright, let's go meet the parents!"

I'm so taken with this side of him that I don't immediately catch the meaning of his words. When I do, I stare after him in shock. "Wait, what?"

Brian had reached the driver's side of the truck by the time I'd managed to respond. Now he pops his head back (around the end of the truck), asking cheerfully, "You coming?"

I stammer, "You want to meet my parents?"

Brian walks all the way back around to where he was standing before and replies evenly, "Well, I am your date. Shouldn't I meet them? I don't want Ma and Pa Taylor to think that their son is running around with a psycho."

This last sentence is chock full of startling (and confusing) information. I'm not sure which part to question him about first.

I inquire slowly, biting back a million-watt smile and desperately struggling to keep the hopeful tone out of my voice, "We're going to be 'running around' together?"

Brian shakes his head, his eyes widening a little. "My mother warned me about boys like you. You only want one thing."

His voice sounds so serious, but his eyes dance. I can no longer hide my bright smile. But then I remember the rest of what he said. I frown and state in an urgent tone, "My parents don't know…you know…"

Brian quirks an eyebrow. "What? That you're a cock-sucking, ass-loving faggot?"

I reply quickly without thinking, "Well, no, but I aspire to be…"

But then I freeze and color ten shades of red.

Brian continues to look at me evenly, apparently unperturbed, but, if I'm not mistaken, he shivers a little. When he speaks again, I realize why.

With the sexiest lilt to his voice, he teases, "You aspire to be? Does that mean that you're a virgin, Sunshine?"

I stammer, "Uh, well, I…"

Then I sigh and answer more simply, "Yes."

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes a little, which are suddenly dark and intense, and, in a half-growl that sets my body on fire, informs me, "You won't be a virgin for too much longer."

I sputter, "I…I won't?"

Suddenly Brian's eyes are warm and playful again. He circles me, even going so far as to run his hands lightly over my ass when he's behind me, causing me to jump, and then explains, "Not with an ass like that and those plump lips (he leans in and kisses my "plump lips" gently), perfect for fucking and sucking."

My entire body flushes, and my cock hardens. I'm not sure whether it's the kiss or the image that flashes through my mind of me kneeling before Brian sucking his, I imagine, huge dick.

"So shall we go?"

Absently, I reply, "Oh yeah. Let's go."

Once we are back in the truck and heading away from the museum, Brian asks, "So where do you live?"

I had just started giving him directions when my phone rings. It's my mom again, and man is she pissed. She screeches, "Justin, we're leaving now. Just go home. I mean it. No stops. Go straight home. And I'd better not find you watching TV or playing video games when I get back!"

I press end. I can't help but laugh. TV and video games are the last thing on my mind! I finish giving Brian directions and try to slow my now rapidly beating heart. Brian and I, assuming he can stay for a while, will have at least an hour alone in an empty house. A house with several beds. Suddenly, I feel so hot. I roll down the window a little and smile at Brian, who is looking at me curiously.

When we arrive at my house, the driveway's empty, of course. Brian pulls in and throws the truck in park. Then he turns toward me, a puzzled look on his face.

I shrug and say, as nonchalantly as I can, "We must have missed them."

Brian looks at me doubtfully, but he doesn't call me on his suspicion. I turn red and squirm. I don't like to lie. Frankly, I suck at it, but I'd prefer eating glass to admitting that I knew my parents would already be gone, but that I still wanted him to take me home, rather than asking him to drop me back off at school and catching the activity bus, which I could easily have done, to admitting that I desperately want to be alone with him, in an empty, bed-filled house, that, as scared as I am, I'm dying for him to fuck me, dying to suck his cock. Just thinking about it sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

I jump a little when I hear his door close. I'm about to climb out of the truck, but Brian waves at me, indicating that I should stay where I am. I'm confused until he opens my door for me and takes my hand. I tremble a little. I can't help but laugh at the ridiculously strong effect Brian's mere touch has on me. No one, not even Chris, has ever made me feel this crazy and wonderful and scared and confused (and horny).

My family and I used to live in a huge three-story house, with a wraparound porch and, between the front and back, an acre of yard. The grass was lush and a beautiful bright green. My dad used to spend hours on it every nice weekend to keep it perfect. But now, we live in a tiny two-story house with a small, sad-looking yard, the grass dull green and uneven (even absent in some spots). Our new house has three bedrooms, a far cry from our other house, which had five, especially since the third bedroom, my room, of course, is very small, not really big enough to even call it a bedroom. Or so I think.

My sister Molly got the bigger of the two non-master bedrooms because my mom is pregnant again, and, according to the doctor, it's gonna be a girl. My mom said the bigger room should go to her because she's gonna have to share. As much as I hate how small my room is, I'm glad that I won't ever have to share it with a squalling baby. It probably sounds terrible, but I think babies are annoying. Always crying and stinking up the place. Yeah, they're cute, for the ten minutes they're awake and not wailing, spitting up, crapping in their diapers, or drooling. Yeah, I know. Once upon a time, I was a wailing, spitting up, pants crapping, drooling baby, and, yeah, I'm glad my mom gave birth to me, especially now (I look over at Brian as we approach the front door and sigh in contentment, though, I hope, silently), but that doesn't mean I'm ready to lead the baby pride parade or share a bedroom with one.

I'm a little embarrassed by our new house. It doesn't even have a porch. Just a long and wide cement block forming a step, and it rocks. You step on the very front part and the back part flies up. You have to aim for the middle. My mom's been bugging my dad to fix it. We can't really afford to have a professional do it for us, or so I heard my dad yell to my mom last week. When we reach the step, I hop onto the middle, as usual, but then, without thinking, I step to the back part to make room for Brian and he steps onto the front part, which sends me flying into his arms, for the second time in two days. I blush (in embarrassment about my new living situation and my new habit of pouncing on people, well, Brian, anyway, as well as about the hard on I've been sporting since I learned that we were headed to an empty house, a hard on that Brian can't help but feel because it's pressed against him). The moment my body makes contact with Brian's, he wraps his arms around me, holding me fast.

I mutter, "Sorry, the step's broken."

Brian nods, but he's smiling at me as though he thinks I somehow arranged for this to happen.

Fuck! Brian is holding me in his arms, our lips are so close, and I've spent half the day hard as a rock. I could cum after rutting against him a few times, I think.

Brian holds my gaze, and, I don't know, maybe 20 seconds in (my proximity to Brian has majorly thrown off my sense of the passage of time), his eyes darken with desire, but, if I'm not mistaken, I observe vulnerability there, too. I think I might be right because a second after I see it, Brian pushes me away roughly and laughs. Then he says, "We'd better get inside before we scare the neighbors."

Shit! I didn't even think about that. The lady across the street is always home, and I often see her peeking at people from behind her curtain.

"Good idea."

I give him a very short tour of the house proper, quickly pointing to the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the half bathroom, and the laundry room/basement. It's sad that I can do all that from one spot in the front room, what my mom calls "the parlor" (a glorified title if I ever heard one; it contains a hutch, a sofa, two wicker chairs, albeit nice ones, a bookshelf, and an old piano that hasn't been tuned in months).

Brian nods at all of this, not saying anything, but then drawls, "Where's your room, Sunshine?"

My entire body flushes at that. I'm so excited and frightened by the prospect of having Brian alone in my bedroom. I nod toward the stairs and then head up. He follows.

As soon as I touch the door knob, I start apologizing. I'm already embarrassed that the hallway with the bedrooms and the main bathroom is so tiny. The house is really very small.

I step into my room, drop my book bag on the floor, take two more steps, which brings me to the other side of it, and sit on my bed; it's up against the far wall right under my tiny window. Brian looks around, from the doorway panning left to right, letting his eyes fall on my small desk and chair, my dresser, the bed, and then the spot that receives the most light, where I lie on the floor and draw. My tiny closet is adjacent to the door on its right. When his eyes light on my drawing spot, I jump off the bed to close some sketch pads. I'd been drawing Brian like crazy since we met yesterday. I blush crimson and look up at him and smile, hoping he didn't see how many pages his gorgeous face and lithe form grace. Then I stand up and straighten my clothing.

When I finally feel composed, I note that Brian is looking at the drawings on my wall. His eyes are wide, as though in awe. My breath catches in my throat at the look of wonder on his face.

Brian breathes, "These are fucking amazing, Sunshine!"

I stammer, "They are?"

Brian turns toward me quickly and shoots me an intense, almost scary look. "I don't lie or exaggerate. If I thought they were crap, I'd tell you, well, if I said anything at all."

I huff a laugh. Brian is most definitely the strangest boy I've ever met.

When Brian moves to sit, I'm even more painfully aware of how small my room is. Brian's got at least a couple of inches on me, and his head almost reaches the ceiling.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I know my room is tiny."

Brian leans back against the wall (he's half-lying down; he's half-lying down!) and shrugs.

"At least your room is upstairs and carpeted. Mine is in the basement. My pop built a half-wall of sorts to section my room off from the washer and dryer and the crawl space and threw up some paneling to cover the rest."

Brian narrows his eyes and looks around. Then he concludes, "Mine's longer, but narrower. I bet the square footage is about the same."

Oh God! I thought I had it bad. Sensing my pity, Brian adds hastily, "But there is one major benefit to living in the basement. There's a door to the outside. You go out and up a few stairs and you're in the back yard."

I smile and sit down next to Brian. "That's cool."

Suddenly Brian rises. He looks nervous. He mutters, "Fuck! I forgot that I have to do something. My…pop asked me to help him with something."

I stand up and say, "Oh, okay." I try not to sound as disappointed as I am, but I think he can probably tell because he turns back, nudges my nose with his, and kisses my lips gently. The kiss is slow and soft, but firm. I just stare after him, still confused, but now with a silly grin on my face.


	7. Sick Day

I arrive at home ec early. I haven't seen Brian all day, but he's really the only person I want to see. I look up every time someone enters the classroom and then let my eyes fall and sigh when I see that it's not him. After the second bells rings without Brian's appearing, I lay my head on my arms and start to worry. Is he sick?

Mrs. Newman tells us that we need to partner up and take a trip to the grocery store, walking around and writing down everything we would buy for us to eat over a week. The pair with the smallest total and the most balanced food selection will get an A+, while the rest get at most an A. I want that A+, but what's more, I want to see Brian over the weekend (it's Friday).

So even though Mrs. Newman says I can work alone, I tell her that Brian is sick, but that he'll help me with the assignment all the same, that he asked me to bring him his homework. She not only believes me but also instructs me to go down to the office for the rest of Brian's work (so far). I smile as I walk through the halls. In just a couple of hours, I'll be at Brian's house with him. I start skipping when I think of the possibility of our being alone. When I reach the office, I totally lie, asserting that Brian asked me to collect his homework for him, but that he forgot to give me his address. He was, I explain, so sick that he could barely stop sneezing and coughing to make the request. The secretary looks at me dubiously for a moment, but then jots down his address and hands me the slip of paper. Once again, my youthful and innocent look has won me trust I don't necessarily deserve.

The rest of the day crawls by, and I spend it in a daze. All I can do is watch the clock tick. Even during lunch. Daphne introduces me to two of her new friends, one an effeminate, but attractive boy with sandy blond hair and the other a non-descript geek who reminds me a little of eeyore, with his slow way of talking and gloomy air. I look up and say hi, but then go back to watching time pass. I don't even catch their names. I don't bother to eat, either. I'm too nervous and excited.

Finally the last bell rings. I grab my books and Brian's homework from my locker and dash out the door. I see Daphne on my way out. She tries to talk to me, but I tell her I'll call her later and then I'm out the door. Thankfully Brian doesn't live far from school. Just half a mile. I wonder why he even bothers to drive. Ten minutes later, I'm fidgeting nervously on Brian's porch after ringing the bell, waiting for him to answer.

When Brian doesn't come to the door (after three rings of the bell), I clench my fist and try the knob. It turns. I'm thinking about walking in when I remember that Brian said there was a door from his bedroom to the outside in the back yard. I walk around and wrinkle my nose when I see that there's a fence. I've never even tried to hop one before, but if it's anything like climbing a rope, I'm doomed. I toss my book bag over and then grab the fence with both hands and throw my leg over it. I cry out when the fence catches me in the balls. But at least now I'm mounted on the edge, halfway there. I throw my other leg over, but lose my balance and end up falling to the ground (on my back). Thankfully the fence wasn't too tall, but I'd landed on a rock, so my ass and balls ache. I inch off the rock and then let myself fall on the ground so that I'm all stretched out. I grunt. I'm just about to clamber to my feet when it grows dark. Had a cloud passed in front of the sun? I look up to find Brian leaning over me, a big smile on his face.

He asks cheerily, "Need a little help, Sunshine?"

I close my eyes and sigh. I don't suppose there's any chance he didn't see my pathetic fence climbing. My eyes fly open when I feel his hand in mine. He's pulling me to my feet.

Still smiling he offers, "It was nice of you to drop by…" Then he starts giggling.

I blush and retort, "Ha ha, you're sooo funny. Not!"

Brian pats me on the back and pushes me toward the little staircase leading to the outside door. Then he picks up my bag and follows.

His room is very tiny. Long and narrow, drowning in ugly paneling. The bed takes up most of the space. Once we're inside and seated on his bed, he reaches out with what looks like a cigarette. But it smells funny. He asks, "You wanna hit?"

I exclaim in astonishment, "Brian, is that marijuana?"

He looks down at the cigarette and then back up at me. "I sure as hell hope so."

"Drugs are bad, Brian. They impair your judgment and can even be addictive. Marijuana is a gateway drug. If you keep doing it, you might end up taking heroin or something."

Brian watches me with a solemn expression and then bursts out laughing. "Thanks for the public service announcement. So do you want a hit?"

"Well…okay. Maybe just one."

I put the cigarette to my lips and inhale, but then immediately start coughing. Brian takes the cigarette from me, rubs my back, and hands me a glass of water. "Here, drink this."

After I stop coughing, Brian hands the cigarette back and takes the glass, saying, "This time inhale slower and try to hold the smoke in as long as possible."

I nod and inhale slowly. Then I hold the smoke in my lungs. Brian stares at me with an amused look on his face. Mine must be bright red about now. I've never been good at holding my breath for long periods. When I can't take it anymore, I exhale, coughing a little and then burying my face in Brian's pillow. This whole experience, from the fence onward, has been both exhilarating and humiliating. Unexpectedly, Brian taps on my shoulder. I lift up my head. My eyes widen when Brian pulls me to him. I automatically open my mouth a little, expecting him to kiss me. I gasp a little when Brian blows marijuana smoke in my mouth instead. Brian pulls away and smiles at me. Then, when I exhale, he pulls me to him again, this time thrusting his tongue into my mouth and kissing me passionately. I sigh in his mouth and kiss him back. I'm so overwhelmed, so lost in Brian's scent and taste, that I throw my arms around his neck and then push him onto his back and lie on top of him. I start grinding my suddenly very erect cock against Brian's when Brian cries out softly. I immediately sit up. Brian's clutching his side. I narrow my eyes and push his hand away, lifting up his shirt. I gasp. Brian's left side is covered in bruises. I look up, my eyes meeting Brian's, searching for answers.

Brian sighs as he pulls his shirt down and sits up.

"Brian…what…what happened?"

Brian shrugs. "Fell down the stairs."

This makes no sense. Brian is probably the most graceful boy I know…and athletic. I shake my head in incredulity.

But then everything falls into place in my mind. I gape at him in horror. "Someone pushed you…"

Brian chuckles. "It was really more of a kick…"

I look at him helplessly, "Who…why?"

Brian shrugs. "My pop asked me to do the lawn yesterday. So I mowed it and then took out the weedwacker to do the edges, but it's a piece of shit. I couldn't get the thing going no matter how many times I pulled the cord. When I told my pop, he accused me of lying to get out of doing work. Then he expressed his disgust."

I exclaim, "That's ridiculous! It wasn't your fault!"

Brian scoffs, "Try telling him that. When he's in a mood, which is pretty much all the time, he doesn't respond to reason."

"Is this why you didn't come to school?"

"Coach would have expected me to go to practice otherwise."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I suggest, "You should come to my house. Spend the night."

When Brian tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow at me as though I've propositioned him, and I suppose I have, indirectly, I blush and add, "My parents love it when I have friends over."

Brian drawls, "Would they love it if they knew you were hot for my bod?"

I sputter, "I…I…" and turn a deeper shade of red. I don't know what to say. I kind of want to deny that I desire Brian, but even if I managed to get the words out, he wouldn't believe me. No fucking way. So instead, I smile and reply boldly, a sexy drawl to my voice, "I guess it's a good thing they don't."

Then more seriously, I add, "We have to do a project for home ec anyway. We could plan it out tonight and go tomorrow."

"Go? Go where?"

I giggle. "The grocery store. We're supposed to pretend we're living together and figure out what we'd buy to eat for a week. The pair who finds a way to spend the smallest amount of fake money while also eating the healthiest will get extra points."

"Ooo! Fun! In fact, the very idea is giving me chills."

Then in a low growl, Brian posits, "Or maybe that's just you…"

The desire I hear in his voice and see in his eyes gives me a chill.

Brian regards me for a long moment. I'm not sure why until he states brightly, "My old man probably won't like it, but fuck it. Why not?"

He grabs a small bag and starts throwing some clothes into it. Then he looks back up at me. His eyes are twinkling, though his voice is solemn. "Now don't think that this means I'm necessarily gonna put out…I have my reputation to think of…"

My eyes widen in astonishment. Then I burst out laughing.


	8. Sleepover, Part 1

My future boyfriend (sigh. I love thinking of Brian that way) and I are sitting in my room. I still can't believe he's spending the night! My mom was, as she would say, a tad annoyed at first (I might have exaggerated when I'd told Brian that my parents love it when I have friends over). Since my mom's been pregnant, she's been tired a lot and achy all over. But she didn't send Brian home. She just said that we were on our own for dinner (My dad is working late at the car dealership, the place he started working after he lost the store, and Molly's eating at a friend's house) and that we should be as quiet as possible. I'm busy trying to find a good channel on the radio (I'm not really into music, but Brian was staring at me like he wanted to eat me for dinner, so I scrambled for something to do. I love, love, love the way he looks at me, but I can't handle his gaze too long without blushing and getting as hard as a rock).

Suddenly, my mom calls up the stairs, "Justin! Daphne's on the phone!"

I shut off the radio, turn back around, tell Brian, "I'll be right back," and then hurry downstairs. I need to get Daphne off the phone quick (I don't want to waste a single second of tonight).

I pick up the phone, move backward so I can see up the stairs and into my room, and mutter, "Hi. I can't talk."

Daphne asks indignantly, "What? Why not?"

As I watch Brian (he's looking at the pictures on my wall), I smile and state softly, "He's here!"

"Who? The football player?"

Lowering my voice to a whisper, albeit an excited one, I answer, "Yeah, Brian. He's. Spending. The. Night."

Daphne screams, "OH MY GOD!!!" but after I shush her (my mom might still be within earshot), she inquires more quietly, "Are you going to sleep with him?"

I feel myself blushing as I admit, "I…I don't know. Maybe."

"Oh…Jus, I can hear it in your voice. YOU SO ARE!!!"

I laugh, but then I start panicking when I see Brian paging through one of my sketchpads. "Uh…I gotta go. I left Brian upstairs."

Daphne teases, "You're a slut. You know that, right?"

Her accusation barely registers. I mumble, "Bye, Daph," thrust the phone back onto the cradle, and rush upstairs.

Fuck!

Brian's looking at a picture (an interpolation) I'd drawn of his naked body. He'd have to be blind to miss the resemblance. When he looks up, he smirks. "Not bad, Sunshine. But my cock's a bit thicker."

I turn ten shades of red and close the door, praying that my mom hadn't heard him.

Then, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he drawls, "Wanna see?"

I freeze, and my cock hardens to an uncomfortable extent. I couldn't form words now to save my life. Brian, no doubt noting my deer-in-headlights expression, stands, hands me my sketchpad, kisses me on the lips gently, and says, "Well, maybe later. Do you have the Star Wars trilogy? Han Solo's pretty cool."

I stammer, "Uh, yeah." Then I stuff my sketchpad into a drawer. I take Brian to the living room, where the TV is, start the first movie, and then run back up to the kitchen to make microwave popcorn and single-serving pepperoni pizzas for us.

After a few minutes, Brian yells, "Hurry! You're gonna miss Darth Vader's first appearance."

I call back, "Just another couple of minutes."'

A moment later, Brian is in front of me. "I paused the movie. Whatcha doing? Cooking your man a hearty meal?"

My heart skips a beat, and I stop breathing. I just stare at him. I can't bring myself to ask the question I'm dying and desperately afraid to ask (Are you my man?), so I look away, away from now sea green eyes drawing me down into their calm, watery depths, and say instead, "Just a snack." But gazing into his eyes, even for a few seconds, gives me a hopeful dreamy feeling. I can't help but smile, especially when Brian takes the plates from my hands (our fingers touching just briefly, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through my entire body) and heads back down to the living room. I follow with the bowl of popcorn and two sodas. When I start down the half stairs, I notice that Brian had turned off the lights. Sitting with Brian, alone in the dark. This is gonna be a looong movie. Is it too girly to hope that our hands touch in the popcorn bowl?


	9. Sleepover, Part 2

My eternal hard on flags a bit (smelling the pizza and popcorn). Without thinking, I dig in. Only when I mash the last bite of my pizza into my mouth do I realize that Brian has been watching me. I notice in embarrassment that while I was un-self-consciously pigging out (eating my entire personal pizza and half the popcorn), Brian had only had a couple of bites of his and a couple handfuls of popcorn. You'd think _I_ was the football player. Brian just smirks and drawls, "I hope your appetite for everything is as voracious as it is for food." I blush, and my eternal hard on returns. Full force.

Brian slides his arm around my shoulders and draws me closer. He must be stronger than he realizes because he pulls me roughly into his left side and winces in pain and surprise. Afraid of hurting him any more than I already have, I start to move away, but he holds me firmly in place. I still can't believe that Brian's dad kicked him down the stairs. I think Brian must have been trying to downplay the incident. Remembering with a chill, the sheer number and size of his bruises suggest that his dad kicked him a bunch of times before kicking him down the stairs. And all because the weedwacker wouldn't start. It's beyond comprehension. I am suddenly overwhelmed by the need to comfort Brian, to cherish him, to show him just how rare and beautiful he is.

I surprise us both by sliding to my knees in front of him on the floor. I slowly remove his shirt and toss it onto the couch, all the while looking deep into Brian's eyes. I see shock, vulnerability, and desire there. I run my hands lightly, so lightly, over his bruised skin. He flinches at first, in anticipation of pain. But he relaxes when it doesn't come. Then I start laying gentle, open-mouthed kisses in between the bruises. I breathe against his skin, "You're so beautiful, Brian. So beautiful."

Brian moans softly. Then I move to his chest, licking, sucking, and nibbling on his nipples and a trail of skin downward. He leans his head back a little, but he's still watching me intently. He's panting now. I'm scared out of my mind, but I like that fear. It makes my dick impossibly harder to imagine myself doing something neither Brian nor I would ever expect. Even more so because I know my mother is somewhere in the house, and though we are in the dark and I am partially hidden by the couch, which faces away from the stairs, she could still see me, catch me sucking Brian's cock. Cause that's exactly what I'm planning to do.

I hear Brian's breath catch in his throat when I reach for his jeans and unbutton and unzip them. I smile brightly and start pulling his jeans and then his underwear down.

Fuck.

Brian wasn't lying. His dick is thicker (and longer) than I imagined. I swallow hard, but I'm getting off a little on my nervousness. Then I dive in, licking the underside of his cock. Brian groans softly. I start jerking him off as I suck on the head of his dick. Brian spreads his legs wider and unconsciously thrusts up, thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth. Incensed, I remove my hand and take his entire length into my mouth. I don't even know how. He's so big. Before I know it, I'm sucking his cock fast and hard, drawing it all the way into my mouth each time, sometimes even bringing the tip of his cock into my throat. Each time I do that, Brian shivers.

Brian moans, "I can't last much longer."

Filled with a strange pride, I redouble my efforts, now making sure the tip of his cock enters my throat every time. Suddenly, Brian shakes and shudders and cries out, "Oh!" Really loud. Then he's cumming into my mouth. I swallow it all.

Brian's cry must have woken my mom up because I hear her coming down the top set of half stairs. I pull back and mutter, "Fuck! My mom." I jump back onto the couch as Brian frantically pulls his pants up and his shirt over his head. Then he runs his hands through his hair and smiles. Even now, he's so fucking sexy. My mom pokes her head around the corner (and into the living room, though she's still at the top of the bottom set of half stairs) and asks, "You boys, okay? I thought I heard a scream."

I astound both Brian and I with my nonchalance as I answer, "Yeah, mom. I accidentally stepped on Brian's foot."

Laughing, she replies, "Well maybe you shouldn't sit in the dark. You know how clumsy you are."

She turns on the light and then goes back upstairs. The moment we no longer hear her retreating footsteps, we both burst out laughing. Then Brian stands up and takes my hand, pulling me into the half bathroom (off the living room). He pushes the lid down, sits on the toilet, and pulls me onto his lap so that I'm facing away from him. Then he unfastens my pants and pulls them and my underwear down.

He whispers against my neck, even as he starts stroking my painfully erect cock, "That was some blowjob, Sunshine. Fucking incredible."

The combination of the softness of his voice and the compliment send a warm shiver down my spine. He grips my dick hard and starts placing open-mouthed kisses from my earlobe down to my pulse point. Then he draws his tongue back up to my earlobe and begins to suck on it gently. I moan, "Brian…"

Brian bites my earlobe as he swipes the precum off the head of my cock and picks up the pace. I draw my breath in sharply and lean my head back, giving him greater access to my neck. He starts sucking on my neck hard.

I cry out, "Oh fuck!"

Suddenly, his lips are on mine and his tongue is in my mouth. I growl a little, causing Brian to moan, and grab his neck and roughly pull him closer, kissing him deeply and a little violently. Brian is not even slightly put off by this. He squeezes my dick harder, pumps it faster, and then kisses me back just as, or more, ferociously. When he bites my lip, I whimper and freeze. Then I'm cumming in long white spurts, all over the wall my mom so carefully painted a pretty country rose. Brian kisses me deeply as my orgasm shudders through me and then pulls back and releases my cock.

As I try to slow my heart (it's beating so hard and fast) and catch my breath, Brian examines the wall. I look at him curiously, raising an eyebrow. Then he states in a mock enthusiastic voice, "It works! A nice light almond. Goes well with the rose. But the Jackson Pollack style might be a little too modern for the whole… (he pauses as he looks around at the little baskets of dried flower petals and the flower wallpaper trim) country farmhouse theme."

My eyes widen. Then I burst out laughing.


	10. A Wet Dream

Today was going to be a life-changing day. I didn't know that when I woke up, though perhaps I should have had an inkling, since the first thing I saw, or rather felt, this morning was a warm wet mouth on my dick. Brian's warm wet mouth. That should have been my first clue that today would be like no other. But I never would have guessed that today I would lose my virginity and get my first boyfriend. Wait. Let me back up a bit. Back up all the way to when I was still sleeping and, more importantly, dreaming. Of course, I can only attest to what I remember of my dream and what I experienced after I awoke, but Brian filled me in on the rest.

Okay. So I'm sleeping, dreaming about Brian. Duh. I'm dreaming that he's naked and lying next to me. Then we're rubbing up against each other, grinding our cocks together and kissing like there's no tomorrow, his tongue deep in my mouth and his fingers threaded into my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me with such passion that my entire body is consumed by fire, licked by flames.

According to Brian, I'm moaning in my sleep. Moaning his name as I rub up against the bed. We had decided the night before that we shouldn't sleep next to each other. All we needed was my mom to walk in and catch us all tangled up together. So Brian's lying on the floor watching me, watching my ass bob up and down as I hump the bed (not my finest hour, but I'm a horny teenager, what can I say…). Apparently, he couldn't resist touching my ass, my "bubble butt" (that's what he calls it), undulating wildly as I moan his name. So he squeezes it and then pulls down my pajama pants and slides his hands all over it. Next he flips me over, and, my pajama pants pooled around my ankles, he leans down and takes my entire length into his mouth. No prelude. No licking my cock from base to tip. No sucking on the head or tasting my precum with his tongue in my slit. Nope. He just wolfs me down and starts sucking for dear life. Brian, of course, didn't tell me "the dear life" part. But that's what I awoke to find. Him sucking my cock for dear life.

My eyes flutter open to reveal the most beautiful guy in the world worshipping my cock. I nearly come right then. My entire body flushes, and my breathing grows ragged. I involuntarily thrust upward, pushing my dick deeper into his mouth, pushing the tip into his throat. When he swallows around it, I have to bury my face in the pillow to stifle a deep body moan. A few seconds later, I'm cumming into his mouth. Cumming harder than I ever had, than I had ever thought possible. Then I'm floating and smiling. A bodyless grin.

Then Brian is whispering, no, growling, maybe whisper-growling, "Sunshine, I need ("I need!" I sigh even as my cock twitches) to fuck you!" Later, of course, Brian denies using the word "need." He swears that he said, "want." But I know what I heard. Anyway. I'm scared shitless, but turned on nevertheless, more so than I've ever been. I'm not sure what to do, though I know I want him to fuck me. So I wait. I wait for Brian to tell me or show me what to do.

I don't have to wait long. He whisper-growls, "Turn over," and I do. He gets up to shove a chair up against the door, but then he's back, naked now (he'd pulled off the pajama pants I'd lent him while walking back to the bed). He's back and on top of me, kissing my neck and my back and then parting my cheeks and licking my hole. He swirls his tongue around it and then, unexpectedly, plunges it inside me. I bury my face in my pillow to silence the moans his very busy tongue is ripping from me. I don't understand why it feels so good. I don't understand until he tells me later that there's a special spot inside me, inside all men, that make them wriggle and mewl, well, that's what it did to me anyway. At this point, my cock is hard again, as hard as a rock, and I'm involuntarily rutting against the sheets, desperate for friction.

That all stops when Brian pulls back and thrusts two fingers inside me. It burns at first (and not in a good way), but Brian reminds me to breathe, and, when I do, I relax, and it doesn't hurt as much. Then he moves his fingers apart, stretching me. Later I ask him how he knew to do all "this." To lick me, tongue fuck me, and stretch me because, as I learn afterward, Brian was a virgin, well, before this morning. Turns out, that all his flirting was mostly bluster. He'd let a few guys suck him off, but he'd never sucked anyone else off or fucked or been fucked before. In answer to my question, he says one word. "Porn." That makes me giggle. Anyway…back to the fucking.

Brian licks his hand and slicks his cock with a mixture of spit and his precum and then starts pushing it inside me. My eyes nearly pop out of my head. It hurts so much that I'm not sure I can take it. But he stops moving when he feels me tense up, and he reminds me to breathe again. He also pulls me up so that I'm on my hands and knees, and he rubs my back with one hand and strokes my cock with the other. Before I know it, the pain is gone and I'm pushing back, thrusting his cock deeper inside me. I bite my lip and blink back tears as I push until I feel his balls slap my ass. Once he's buried inside me, Brian whimpers a little. He holds my hips still for a moment. Then he goes back to rubbing my back and stroking my cock.

Feeling Brian inside me, filling me up, connected to me in a more intimate way than anyone ever has been, and feeling the pleasurable burn of his hand on my dick, squeezing it even as he strokes it, I can't stop myself from pulling away and pushing back. Hard. It still hurts, but less, and pleasure is mixed in with the pain. I fucking love it!


	11. A Waking Dream

So Brian's fucking me. (Brian's _fucking_ me!) And it feels so good. He's pulling almost all the way out and then thrusting back in, rubbing up against "my special spot" every time. Every cell in my body is vibrating with electricity and burning with the most intense heat. I can't help but start meeting his thrusts, pushing back hard until I feel his balls slap against my ass.

And fuck! The noises he's making. Grunting, panting, and moaning (softly; his moans are partially muffled as he licks, sucks, and bites my neck). Then suddenly, he's pounding into me and stroking my cock hard and fast. In the blink of an eye, my orgasm charges through me, and I bite back a moan as I arch my back, cum spurting out of me wildly, like a fire hydrant that's been unscrewed. (Course, no child would want to dance in my "spray.") A second later, Brian freezes, growls my name, and bites my neck. Hard. Then I feel his hot cum filling me up. It's a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. The opposite really.

As Brian recovers, he rests his head in the crook of my neck and slides his hands up my sweat slick chest, squeezing me tight. My arms and legs are kind of sore. I can't hold his (dead) weight much longer, though I want to remain in his arms, for his cock to remain buried in my ass. Unfortunately, a couple minutes later, gravity wins, pulling us down into a heap. Brian twists us to the side, which causes him to grunt in pain (from the injuries his dad inflicted), but, once the pain fades (I can tell because he's breathing normal again), it's even better. Cause now we're spooning, and his dick is still deeply embedded in my ass.

However, my bliss is fleeting. It's wrecked, and you'll never guess why or how. Okay, I'll just tell you. (Blushing) cum starts trickling out of my ass, tickling me. I giggle and wriggle, though Brian tries to hold me in place. When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I'm almost relieved. I need to give my ass a good scrubbing.

Brian's off me in a flash, on the floor pulling on the pajama pants he'd discarded and pushing the chair back to the desk (it was wedged under the doorknob to keep unwelcome guests out). I don't even bother with my pajama pants. I just throw a cover over myself and pretend to be asleep.

I sigh in contentment, in spite of the cum still trickling out of me. I can't help but smile. I'm no longer a virgin. Daphne's gonna flip!

Turns out, the footsteps are just a false alarm. After a couple minutes, I open one eye. Brian is staring at me, his face so close to mine that I squeal and jump back. He finds this hilarious, laughing so hard that he falls over. I mutter, "Asshole."

We take separate showers (pouty face), but we dress together. In fact, Brian dresses me while placing open-mouthed kisses on my lips and all over my neck. I'm about to demand that he take responsibility for the hard-on he inspired when my mom does it for him (by walking in and announcing that she'd finished making breakfast. Her voice is the greatest buzz kill and hard-on deflater.) Good thing Brian's reflexes are so quick. He'd jumped away from me as she walked in the door, so she has no clue I was in Brian's arms but 10 seconds before.

Minutes later, Brian and I are eating chocolate chip pancakes (my mom always makes them when I have an overnight guest) at the kitchen table, exchanging furtive glances and smiling like fools. But then, my mom, Queen Buzz Kill, asks, "Justin, I was in the downstairs bathroom and noticed that part of the wall paper is discolored. What happened?"

I turn ten shades of red, and Brian starts laughing his ass off.

I clear my throat and then reply, as calmly as I can manage, while looking anywhere but at her, "My can of coke exploded."

"In the bathroom?"

"Well, I was afraid it might. I tried to hold it over the sink."

"Hmmm. Oh." Then she turns back to the oven (she's making more pancakes; she's used to my appetite, but it's especially strong today).

Brian's laughter has decreased in intensity by now (he's chuckling), but his eyes are dancing. I fix him with my iciest glare. But when he fake-pouts, I can't help but smile. Fucker!


	12. The Cherry on the Sleepover Sundae

Daphne stops by without even calling. I think she knows I would have told her not to come. At the time, Brian and I are actually sitting in the living room at the coffee table, which is covered in grocery store ads, looking for deals (for our home ec assignment).

I say to Brian, "We should put this Café Supremo coffee on the list. It's only 95 cents for 10 ounces."

Brian scoffs, parroting me. "It's only 95 cents," as though that says everything.

I laugh. "I'm sure it's fine. Just cause it's inexpensive…"

Brian interjects, "Cheap."

I sigh. "Just cause it's _inexpensive_ doesn't mean it tastes bad."

Brian stares at me blankly and replies with just two words. "Hot dogs." I had pointed out that a package of 10 (as opposed the normal 8) hot dogs (a brand neither of us had ever heard of) was only $1.39.

I counter defensively, "Hot dogs are filling!"

"They're fucking disgusting. I ate them when I didn't know any better. I know better now."

I shake my head and turn away. Brian would starve on $30 bucks a week (for his food budget). That's when I catch sight of Daphne.

Daphne bounds down the stairs without warning. I exclaim, "Daphne, what are you doing here?"

She sits behind Brian on the couch so that he can't see her face. She inquires, teasing me, "So is this the football player?"

I blush, and Brian quirks an eyebrow.

I state softly, still embarrassed, "Daphne, Brian. Brian, Daphne."

Brian turns back a little and extends a hand. She smiles brightly and gives it a good shake, earning her a chuckle from Brian. When Brian turns back to face me again, she is asking me with her eyes and her facial expression what's going on with us. I respond with a bright, but shy smile. I even blush a little. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. She's about to ask/exclaim, I imagine, "You fucked?!!" I can just feel it coming. So I jump up and leap over the table, throwing myself at/on her. A moment later, I'm straddling her and covering her mouth with both hands. Her exclamation comes out muffled: "Ooo muck?!!"

I laugh, but then narrow my eyes, warning her to say nothing more. Brian is already suspicious, observing us with an amused expression, his eyebrow raised. But Daphne is determined to assault us both with a barrage of questions. She squirms away and leans back until she is sprawled out on the couch. As soon as she escapes my grasp, before I can clamp my hand back over her mouth (and I'm really trying, but she wiggles this way and that, evading me at every turn), she asks cheerily, "So are you boyfriends?"

It must be nice to be so comfortable with such questions. Granted, guys are guys, and many are assholes who think only with their dicks, but, at least, there's less of a social stigma when guys date girls. I close my eyes and let my head fall, sighing heavily. I'm afraid of what Brian will say. Or, rather, what he won't say.

I can imagine him laughing, and hard, declaring, "Nah. We're just friends."

Or his face and voice tight. "We're just partners working on a class project."

Or his face wearing an arrogant smile, shrugging. "I fucked him, but I'm not about to marry him."

I can't breathe, and my heart's beating so hard in my chest that it almost hurts. Should I offer to get everyone drinks, saving Brian from the question and me from heartbreak and humiliation? Probably only a few seconds pass, but the silence in each is deafening and a little painful. I stand up and am about to ask if they want something to drink when Brian replies, nonchalantly (I envy him), "Yeah."

I had opened my mouth to ask if they wanted cokes, but had not actually uttered the words. I'm so surprised by Brian's response to Daphne's question that my mouth is still hanging open seconds later. Brian's eyes widen a little when he sees my face (eyes open wide and gaping). Then he shocks the hell out of me by saying, "Unless I was just a fuck to you, Sunshine."

My eyes grow as wide as saucers. Brian's voice is filled mostly with amusement, but there's an edge there, too. A glint of steel in the warmth of his laughter. I don't even know what to say. I'm speechless.

Daphne brings me out of my stunned silence by half-laughing, half-exclaiming, "Sunshine?"

I ignore her. I look at Brian with an intensity I can feel rush through my body and shudder through my voice, as I state, "You're not. You're not just a fuck to me."

Brian swallows hard and holds my gaze. I think we both forget that Daphne is there. Suddenly my mom pops her head around the corner of the stairs and says, "Honey, I think it's time for your friends to go home. You have chores to do." Queen Buzz Kill doing what she does best, which, in retrospect, is probably a good thing. A minute longer and I might have been in Brian's lap grinding my cock against his, my tongue shoved down his throat. I whine, yes, whine (Again, not my finest hour, but I _am_ still a teenager), "But mom, Brian and I are working on a project for school."

"The lawn isn't going to mow itself, young man." Then she disappears.

I sigh deeply, but Brian is smiling at me. "We can finish this part on the phone later and then go to the grocery store tomorrow."

I tilt my head from side to side and shrug. "Yeah." But of course, I'm still disappointed.

A few minutes later, I'm in my room watching Brian collect his things and staring at him, my mind racing. I'm scared to ask the question plaguing me, repeating, resounding, over and over in my head. I don't want Brian to retract his shocking statement, but I need him to confirm it. Hesitantly, I finally have the balls to inquire, "Did you mean what you said before when Daphne was here?"

Brian grins, his eyes twinkling. Nonchalantly, he asks, "What did I say?"

I smile, but I look down. In nearly I whisper, I reply, "About us being boyfriends..."

"Ah." Then more seriously, "Yes, I meant it. Don't you want me to be your boyfriend?"

I laugh. "Yes, of course. I just didn't expect _you_ to want to be."

"I told you that we'd be running around together, didn't I?"

I smile shyly. "Yeah."

The next thing I know I'm pinned against the door, Brian's body pressed against my body, his mouth crushed against my mouth, his hands in my hair, on my neck, on my ass, everywhere. A minute later, he's back on the other side of the room, packing up his bag as though nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, look markedly less composed. I lean back against the door, my heart racing, my breathing ragged, my hair a mess, panting and flushed.

A few short minutes later, I'm watching Brian drive off sadly, and, a minute after that, I'm lying on my bed, a huge smile on my face. (I have a _boyfriend_! Brian, a _football player_, is my boyfriend) Then I close my eyes and replay the events of this morning. A minute _after that_, I'm sliding my hand into my jeans and wrapping it around my cock, Brian's name on my lips. A few minutes _**after that**_, Queen Buzz Kill comes to the door to remind me that I needed to mow the lawn, but, thankfully, after I had shot my load while imagining that Brian was fucking me, me on my hands and knees crying out, "That's right, Brian, pound my ass, pound my ass hard!" I actually whispered that to myself. That was what pushed me over the edge.

8:00pm

Brian hasn't called yet. I don't want to appear too eager, but I'm getting antsy. I actually call Daphne (we have call waiting) so she can 'talk me down' (out of calling Brian, since he'd said he would call).

9:00pm

Brian still hasn't called. I'm lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, with the cordless in my hand, debating for the tenth time whether I should call Brian.

9:15pm

Brian _still_ hasn't called. I'm pacing now, paranoid questions cycling through my head. Does he regret saying he wants to be boyfriends? Does he regret fucking me? Was I a bad fuck?

9:26pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. My mom storms into my room, demanding that I stop pacing (My mom isn't usually this frazzled, but she's still feeling unwell and was trying to sleep).

9:40pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. I'm lying on my bed again, tapping my foot against the bedpost.

9:50pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. My mom storms into my room again, but now demanding that I stop tapping my foot against the bedpost. She actually raises her voice. She must really be exhausted.

10:15pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. I'm back on the phone with Daphne trying to justify calling Brian, but she stands firm. She tells me in no uncertain terms that boys like girls and boys who 'play it cool.' I whine and sigh and plague her with buts. But she just keeps saying, "No," over and over. And over.

10:29pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. I'm starting to get worried (and feeling guilty that it took me this long to wonder whether Brian was alright). Had Brian's dad hurt him again? Was he incapacitated? In the hospital?

10:32pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. Without even thinking, I start pacing again.

10:38pm

Brian _**still**_ hasn't called. My mom storms into my room _again_, demanding that I stop pacing. This time, she not only raises her voice _but also_ threatens to tie me to the bed.

10:45pm

Knowing I won't be able to sleep until I see Brian alive and well and afraid to call Brian's house (I don't want to get Brian in any trouble, or in any _more_ trouble), I'm climbing out the window.

10:47pm

After falling halfway down the trellis outside my window, I freeze, listening for any sign of pursuit. Hearing none, I run down the street.

11:30pm

After a long, long walk, I arrive at Brian's house. Now I'm climbing the fence surrounding his back yard, just as aptly as the first time.

11:31pm

I'm lying on my back on the other side of the fence (and on top of the same rock that got me the last time, but, thankfully, I didn't injure my balls this time around).

11:32pm

Brian is standing over me, smiling broadly.

11:33pm

Brian explains that his dad was being an asshole, refusing to let him use the phone, but that he had not struck Brian. Brian was waiting until his father had passed out to call. In fact, Brian was dialing my number when he heard the thud outside (of me falling). Fortunately, he hadn't completed the call. My ass would have been grass then, especially since I'd been driving my mom bonkers all night.

11:37pm

Brian has my legs up on his shoulders and his cock in my ass, pounding me mercilessly.

11:38pm

I moan softly, "That's right, Brian, pound my ass, pound my ass hard!"

11:39pm

Brian kisses me passionately, probably to silence me.

11:42pm

Brian and I are naked and tangled up together in Brian's small bed. I'm grinning like the Cheshire cat, my face nuzzled snugly in Brian's neck. Fuck! His arms are so strong, his body so warm, and his scent so intoxicating, even more so after sex. Yes, today was definitely a life-changing day. The best I'd ever experienced in my sixteen years. After making this observation (to myself), I drift off.


	13. Rutting, Hiding, and a Trip to the Store

Sunday morning dawns with Brian and I in a warm tangle of legs and arms. It's actually not dawn, more like 10 or 11am. The first thing I see is exposed pipes on the ceiling, perhaps connected to a water heater. I blink a few times, trying to remember where I am. Then I do. I walked to Brian's last night, we fucked (that was amazing), and, then, we fell asleep (if you can believe it, that was even more amazing). I'm in Brian's bed. _Brian's bed!_ Brian's 'room' is chilly in the morning. I nuzzle Brian's neck and draw the blanket higher over us. Then, when I feel Brian move, pulling me closer and grinding our morning erections together, I moan softly, "Mmmm." (I wonder if he was dreaming about me before he awoke. I was most definitely dreaming about him. I'm damn lucky it wasn't a wet dream). Brian responds with a husky, "Morning, Sunshine."

Pretty soon, the grinding becomes full body rubbing and groping. Brian's on top of me, his hands squeezing and rubbing my ass, his lips on my neck and earlobe, licking, sucking, and nibbling. I'm panting and running my hands up Brian's back and my fingers through his soft chestnut hair. Oh God. I'm seconds away from orgasm. Then I hear footsteps approaching, like leather gliding on cement. Fuck. Brian freezes for a second and then rolls off me. Picturing a towering, burly, angry, and abusive man (in a half-open dull gray robe and slippers), my eyes widen, and I jump off the bed. Then I crawl under it, all the way back by the shoddily paneled wall. I'm grateful that Brian's room has carpet; although it's thin and rough, it's a hell of a lot better than cement (I'm in my underwear, and nothing else). But I grimace when I see a cobweb, complete with big, gross spider, in the far left corner.

I'm panting, in part because of my near orgasm and in part because of my scramble under the bed, but when I see fat, hairy feet in worn black slippers, I hold my breath. I'm so scared that my heart is beating a mile a minute. I shiver a little. Now I'm wishing I had at least grabbed my shirt. To make a nightmare even worse, my dick is aching (I'm lying on top of it), and I'm starting to develop blue balls. I'm in hell.

I jump a little when Brian's dad (I imagine it's his dad) bellows, "Did you drink all the milk?"

Brian exclaims with disgust, "What? No!"

His dad snaps, "Don't get smart with me you little asshole. Your mother just went shopping two days ago, and it's gone already. I have a cup of coffee and no fucking milk. How am I supposed to stomach your mother's greasy eggs and burnt bacon without coffee? Get your lazy ass up and to the store!"

There's a moment of silence. Then Brian's dad growls, "Do you need some motivation?"

Brian mutters, "Okay. Okay. I'll go."

Brian's dad hisses, "Now!"

The bed moves, and I hear a thump. Oh God! Then Brian yells, "Alright, alright! I'm going. I'm going!"

Another moment of silence. Brian snaps, "Can I have a little privacy?"

"I expect you back in ten minutes, so get your ass moving!"

"Christ! I'm moving; I'm moving!"

Then the slippers disappear behind the partition separating Brian's room from the rest of the basement. I wait until I can no longer hear leather sliding on cement before I crawl out from under the bed. I'm at a loss. I'm worried. That thump sounded like Brian being thrown into the wall. But I don't want to make Brian feel uncomfortable. Then again, I don't want to act like I'm uncomfortable. I end up stealing a glance at Brian (his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are dull) and starting to dress. I ask softly, "Should I meet you on the corner?"

Brian looks at me like I've grown two heads. He scoffs, "Fuck that. We'll go out the back together and then just walk to the truck. This time, we can use the gate." He smirks and pats my ass. "I don't want you to bruise that fine ass of yours."

I blush (from the compliment) and smile (cause Brian seems normal). We do walk through the back yard and into the driveway, but I walk close to the house and hunch down under the windows. The last thing I want to do is to be the cause of a beating. Brian just laughs at me. I even crouch down as we pull out. When we reach a different street, Brian smirks. "The coast is clear 007." I fold my arms onto my chest. I harrumph. "I did good. No one saw me."

Brian nods slowly, his eyes dancing. "Now if you can just master fence climbing, you'll be ready for the Navy Seals."

I shoot him an icy glare, but, my heart's not really in it. I'm so happy he can joke around. I was afraid he wouldn't talk at all. In fact, he stares back at me with an amused look on his face until I end up laughing.

_In the store…_

When we reach the dairy department, I ask, "Whole milk?"

But Brian is staring at some guy in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, so he doesn't hear me. I frown. The guy is kind of cute. He doesn't have the most attractive face, but he's got broad shoulders and a chiseled physique. I swallow hard. Maybe I should have waited to fuck him, well, to let him fuck me.

I try to make my voice as light as possible and flash Brian a forced smile as I say, "He's kind of cute."

Brian shrugs. "Guys with small dicks and flat asses shouldn't wear tight pants." Then he smirks and grabs my ass. "Now you…you should wear tight pants. Show off the goods."

I blush and then actually giggle. I can't help it. I'm so relieved.

Then, with a genuine smile, a smile so bright it hurts a little, I ask again, "Whole milk?"

Brian scoffs, "Did you see the gut on him?"

"Skim?"

"He despises skim." With a smirk and dancing eyes, he exclaims brightly, "Let's get it!" But then he sighs and grabs 2%.

Then we are in line, smiling, nudging each other and bumping shoulders. I'm such a dork. No one should enjoy a trip to the grocery store so much.


	14. Donuts and Blowjobs

After Brian drops off the milk, we get donuts (with 6 Boston Cremes, my mom's favorite) and head back to my house. I'm hoping that her favorite donuts will decrease the chances of her asking questions about "my story" (that I walked to the corner store to get donuts and just happened to see Brian there). Thankfully, I kept her up so late with my pacing and kicking the bed that she only wakes when she hears the door close after we arrive.

Then Brian and I are alone again, in my room, eating jelly donuts. Suddenly, Brian breaks the silence. "I stopped eating for a week, you know."

My eyes widen in surprise. I ask, "What?"

Brian isn't looking at me. He's picking at his donut, which (because of the powder) is on a plate; my mom's a neat freak. We're lucky she let us take the donuts into my room at all. "My parents are always accusing me of eating all the food. So one week, I stopped eating. I didn't think I was eating more than anyone else, but I had to find out for sure." His voice takes on a bitter tone as he continues, "That week, they still accused me of eating all the food, but I hadn't eaten a fucking thing."

I swallow hard. I'm not sure what to say.

Brian shakes his head. "Everyone, not just my parents, you know, but my aunts, uncles, and grandparents, said that I was a fucked up kid who needed more disciplining than other kids. They've been saying that since I was five. And…I don't know. I thought that maybe they were right. But that week, that week, I knew. I knew it was just an excuse. Why go to the trouble of stopping something that's wrong when you can just convince yourself that the person deserves it? I don't know who I hate more. My pop for…doing what he does, my mom for doing nothing and then later explaining to me why I deserve it, or the rest of my messed up family for pretending that we're normal. That, if anything, I'm the abnormal one."

I set my plate on the floor and move closer to Brian (we're sitting next to each other on the bed). Then I slip my hand into his and even thread our fingers together. I'm afraid that Brian will push me away, but he doesn't. In fact, he squeezes my hand tight (though not uncomfortably so).

Brian laughs, but there's no joy in it. "I'm so stupid that I've been doing everything I can to please them. To prove that they're wrong about me. But nothing has ever worked. Not earning grades good enough to get a scholarship, not becoming popular, not playing football, not becoming quarterback of the varsity team, not pretending I like girls, not learning to fix cars, nothing. They will always think I'm a piece of shit, no matter what I do. I don't know how many times my pop's told me he wished he'd forced my mom to get an abortion when she was pregnant with me or how many times my mom's said that she wished she'd 'gotten rid of me,' that she wished the Church allowed it."

Oh God! I'm too horrified to speak at first. When I find my voice, I whisper, "You don't have to do anything to make me like you. If you were less popular than me, though I don't see how that's possible (Brian chuckles), if you couldn't throw a football to save your life, if you earned poor grades, and even if you were hot for girls, I'd still like you, though if you were hot for girls, I'd be a very unhappy camper."

Brian laughs. Loudly. He looks up at me, his eyes dancing (though they glisten with unshed tears), and exclaims in an incredulous, but joy-filled voice, "Only you would use the term 'unhappy camper!' You are such a dork!"

I pout. Brian laughs again and pulls me into his arms. "Good thing I like dorks, well, I like you anyway. Maybe not all dorks." I hug Brian tight. He buries his face in my neck. My heart breaks when I feel his eyes grow wet. We just sit there for a while, holding each other. When we finally separate, Brian's eyes are dry, and he's smiling.

Then I blow him. I know a blowjob won't solve anything, but seeing Brian completely relaxed, with a blissful look on his face, makes me happy. Brian returns the favor. It's fucking amazing. He pushes me up against the wall, strips me naked, and then drops to his knees and starts deepthroating me (the most beautiful sight in the world). He stops briefly to lick and suck my balls. Before he takes my dick back into his mouth, he licks a finger and then traces my hole and slips his finger inside me while he continues to suck my dick. I cum less than a minute later, harder than I've ever cum before. I bite my lip so hard it bleeds to keep from crying out when I explode in Brian's mouth. I can't believe that my mom didn't interrupt at all.

After that, we return to the grocery store and then to my house to finish our home ec assignment. By the time we're done, it's dark outside. My mom invites Brian to dinner, but he declines. Then I walk him out. We hide around the corner of the house, with a tree obscuring the view of my neighbor on that side, and spend a few minutes making out. Brian gets me so hard squeezing my ass as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth, kissing me so hard and so passionately that my lips are swollen and bruised after. Then I watch him drive away. When he's out of sight, I run back up to my room to jerk off before my mom calls me to the table.


	15. Brave New World, Part 1

I am so excited and nervous, mostly nervous. In just a week, so much has changed. I have a boyfriend. I'm no longer a virgin. I allow myself a blissful sigh as I absorb these two shocking facts before I let my mind drift to the bad part. My boyfriend is Brian, Carnegie High's star quarterback. We sit together in Home Ec, but somehow, I doubt he'll be walking me to classes or eating lunch with me. No handholding or sneaking kisses. Being gay kind of sucks. Not that I wish I were a girl. I just wish society were a little more enlightened.

I sigh, this time a sad sigh, as I look through my clothes. I want to look especially good today, but I don't have much of a wardrobe. My mom still buys all my clothes. Then I have a flash. I dig through my closet until I find a box of clothes I've outgrown. I narrow my eyes and frown as I examine and then toss various items over my shoulder. Finally, I find what I'm looking for. I smile brightly as I pull out a pair of jeans that are a bit snug and a tight light blue T-shirt. I stand up and hold both against me (looking at my reflection in the mirror on the back of my closet door). Perfect. The blue of the shirt brings out my eyes. I laugh a little as I dress. Then I go to the bathroom. I wet my hair and spray some of my mom's mousse into my hand. I rub my hands together and then run my fingers through my hair. I have no idea what I'm doing. I furrow my brow as I twist my hair this way and that. After a few minutes of furrowing and twisting, I smile and nod. Definitely different, maybe good. Then I run back into my room and search for the cologne my Aunt Mindy gave me for Christmas last year. I don't usually wear cologne, but I want, no need, to look and smell different from usual. The world is different today, and I need to look the part. I give myself a final once over in the full-length mirror, smile, grab my book bag, and then run downstairs. The bus will be here in a couple of minutes.

But before I can make it out the door, my mom corners me. "Justin! What are you wearing?"

"What?"

"Those clothes don't fit you anymore. They're too tight."

I just smile. "Bye, mom." Then I run out the door.

I get a few strange looks on the bus. I just smile and ignore them. At least on the outside. On the inside, I'm feeling even greater anxiety than when I woke up this morning. I remind myself that without great risks, great gains are not possible, but I'm starting to feel afraid, very afraid.

Turns out, that fear is warranted. During homeroom, some jocks, Brian's teammates, tease me mercilessly. They tell me I look "pretty" and ask where I got my makeup. Of course, I'm not wearing any. I never would. Well maybe body glitter (or a little eyeliner) if I was going clubbing. Maybe. But I sure as hell wouldn't wear any to school. Apparently, the jocks aren't well acquainted with reality. They take one look at my moussed hair and tight clothes and think 'girly boy.'

Things just get worse after homeroom. Phenomenally worse. The jocks follow me to my locker (though I don't realize this at first). Once I have my books for first and second period, I turn to leave and run right into the biggest of them. He knocks my books to the floor and then shoves me back against my locker. He sneers, "Don't touch me, fag" and pushes me. I glare at him and then kneel to pick up my books. One of the other jocks guffaws. "Look, Bill, I think he wants to suck your dick."

I am saved further humiliation by the ringing of the first bell. Or so I think. But when the hall clears, I see Brian standing two doors down. Staring at me, a cold expression on his face. I'm guessing Brian's teammates hadn't seen him because they didn't draw him into their little game of corner the queer (they exited to the left; he was standing to the right). When we are alone, Brian approaches me slowly, his eyes dark. He snaps, "What the fuck are you wearing?"

I blush a deep crimson. I try to speak, but no words come. I blink back tears and swallow hard.

"You might as well have 'queer' written on your forehead."

Suddenly, I'm pissed. I grab the rest of my books and stand. Then I hiss, "You act so cool, laughingly telling your friends that you're gay, but I bet you never really show them who you are. In the grocery store, that guy you checked out was wearing tight jeans and a tight shirt. You didn't seem to mind that he looked 'queer.' In fact, if we hadn't been together, you probably would have picked him up (at this point I still don't realize that Brian's first time was with me). I'm not going to hide who I am anymore. I don't expect you to hold my hand and carry my books as we walk to class, but I won't pretend I'm straight, either. If that's a problem for you, maybe we shouldn't be together."

Then I storm off. Well I start to. But Brian grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the bathroom. He shuts and locks the door and then pushes me up against it. He rolls his lips into his mouth as he looks at me, regarding me with a cool expression on his face, but somehow it's different. Softer. Finally, he states simply, "I don't want to break up."

I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and the tightness in my chest disappears. I had been so afraid that Brian was done with me.

Then Brian caresses my cheek with his right hand and whispers, "You look hot, you know."

I smile brightly. "You think so?" My heart is beating triple time.

Brian smiles softly and nods. He moves his other hand to my face, cupping it gently with both hands, and then sends his lips crashing down onto mine. I moan softly as I open my mouth, letting him in. Then I slide my hands around his waist and pull him closer as I kiss him back, my fire meeting and perhaps exceeding his own. Brian moves his hands to my neck and pulls me closer as he deepens our kiss. Soon we are rutting against one another, all thought of class and bullies gone.

Brian unexpectedly pulls away after a couple of minutes and asks, "Are you wearing cologne?"

I blush slightly and nod.

"I like it. You smell better au naturel, but it's nice."

I smile brightly.


	16. Brave New World, Part 2

I whisper, "Fuck me, Brian."

"What, here? Now?"

I nod excitedly.

Brian just stares at me in disbelief. I grin wickedly and purr, "I know you want to."

To prove my point, I unbutton and unzip Brian's jeans (He's not wearing any underwear! My eyes widen a little.) His fully erect dick bounces out.

Brian growls, "You realize we're both dead if somebody finds us."

I nod and smile. Duh. Of course I know that. That's part of the appeal.

I lean into Brian, burying my face in his neck, which I have to do so that he won't see me blushing (and I don't think I can get out the words if he's looking at me). "I need your hard dick inside me, pounding my tight little ass." (Don't ask me what possesses me to say that).

Brian growls softly (I fucking love that sound). Then he whispers, his voice husky, "It's not so little." To illustrate, he grabs it with both hands and squeezes. Brian asks, his voice all growly again, "You want me to fuck you? To push you up against the wall and pound your tight little ass?"

"Y-es" is my slightly strangled reply.

Brian wastes no time; he spins me around and then kneels. His arms circle my waist as he unfastens my jeans and then pulls them and my underwear down (he has a little trouble; my pants are really, really tight). Then he spreads my ass cheeks and draws his tongue across my hole. (I spent an extra long time washing there this morning, thinking about him doing this very thing). I lean my forehead against the cool cement wall and moan softly. Oh my fucking God! Brian, Carnegie High's star quarterback, is licking my ass in the boy's bathroom at school! Sounds gross, but it feels incredible. Even more so when he pushes his tongue inside me. I bite my lip to stifle a louder (much louder) moan.

After a couple of minutes of delicious torture (my cock is so hard and throbbing that I start rubbing it up against the wall), Brian stands. I whimper in complaint. But too soon, because Brian isn't erect (erect ) for more than a few seconds before he's pushing a finger inside me and touching my special spot. I mewl in response. Brian chuckles and then leans against me and whispers, "Are you sure you want to do this? You're missing class. Who knows what tidbits of knowledge will be lost to you forever? Information that's not in the book…that might be on a test."

I moan, "I don't care. I don't care. I'd fail midterms and even quit school if it meant that you'd fuck me right here, right now."

Brian smirks. I can feel his smile against my neck. "Wow, you're really desperate for my dick, aren't you?"

I laugh. "You're one to talk. Your rock hard erection is leaking precum on my ass."

He replies, "Touché, Sunshine. Touché." But he pronounces it like "Toosh." I shake my head. "I'm not one of your moronic jock friends, Brian. You don't have to act like you're stupid around me."

I look over into the mirror then. I need to see his reaction. Apparently, that was a direct hit. Brian's face holds a strange expression. One I've never seen. Suddenly, I'm scared. I didn't mean to hurt him. Fuck. Brian's backing up and starting to pull his pants up. I spin around. I cry, "Brian, wait. I'm sorry. I was just teasing. Mostly. I mean…"

I pause. Brian's staring at me, his expression now cold. But he stopped dressing. That's a good sign, I hope.

"I just want you to be yourself with me. You don't have to perform or play act. Ever."

Brian swallows hard and looks down. I'm so tense, still desperately afraid that he's going to bail. But then he's on me, shoving me up against the wall, pushing his tongue into my mouth, sliding his hands behind my neck. Then he breaks away and spins me around, fast and hard. Then he's thrusting his cock inside me.

Oh fuck!

He pauses for a moment and runs his fingers up and down my back, so gently. Suddenly my chest aches. How can he be so gentle with me after what I said, after everything his dad's put him through? I try to swallow the lump in my throat. Then Brian starts thrusting again. Slowly. I glance over into the mirror. God. The look on his face, I can't describe it, but that, the way he continues to touch me, so softly, the way he's moving, pushing himself so deep inside me, but slowly, nothing has ever seemed so beautiful. This, this, is the real Brian. No bluster, no anger, no lies, no jokes. Just gentleness and vulnerability. He turns his head then and sees the look on my face, but he doesn't quicken the pace or turn away. The aching in my chest is so intense now I can barely breathe. He's doing exactly what I asked him to do. Just being himself. Letting me in. Oh God. Then his hand is on my cock. Fuck, I'm so close. I lean my head against the wall and bite my lip again (It's so hard not to scream my lungs out).

I feel a wave of heat rush through me and then I'm cumming all over the wall. When my ass clamps down on Brian's cock, he leans his forehead against my neck and whispers, "Fuck, Sunshine." Then he explodes inside me.


	17. How Will I Know, Part 1

During lunch, I discover that Daphne's two new friends, Emmett Honeycutt and Ted Schmidt (Daphne told me their names for the second time during our walk to math class), are gay, too. I get my first clue when Emmett, the effeminate boy, smiles at me conspiratorially and asks, in a high-pitched drawl, "Did you and Brian Kinney have fun in the bathroom this morning?"

I freeze and turn ten shades of red. Then I sit down and sputter, "Wh-what?"

Ted grins a little creepily and rakes his eyes over my body, housed as it is in very tight clothes (Yup. He's gay alright). Emmett pats my hand (and so, it would appear, is Emmett). "Don't worry, baby. I won't tell a soul that you and the star quarterback were holed up in a locked bathroom for fifteen minutes."

Daphne takes this moment to return to the table (she'd gone to get her lunch). She sits, puts her tray on the table, and then grabs my arm, hard. She inquires excitedly (actually bouncing a little, too), "Oh my God! Did you…"

I cut her off with a glare. She continues, though in a lower voice, "and Brian fuck at school?"

In a near panic, I whisper, "Daph! Please."

Daphne grins and giggles. "Oh God, you did!"

I protest, my voice almost a growl, "Daphne, as far as I know, Brian Kinney is straight."

Daphne harrumphs. "Justin, it's just us here."

I jerk my head to the left a little; she, Emmett, and Ted look in the direction I'd indicated. She pales (her eyes lighting on two football players waiting in line for lunch).

She whispers, "Sorry," and Emmett and Ted nod solemnly.

When the football players are out of earshot (after an extremely uncomfortable two minutes filled with forced smiles and talk about the weather and homeroom teachers), she suggests, in a whisper, "Why don't we call your special someone Matt and the way you express your 'like' talking. So were you and Matt talking in the bathroom for fifteen minutes?"

I laugh. Daphne is such a dork. Then I flush with pleasure as I remember my rendezvous with Brian (and honestly, the dried cum on my ass makes it difficult to forget; I wriggle a little in my seat). I grin and nod.

Daphne shakes her head in incredulity. "Three days ago, you had never talked to anyone before, and now…all you ever do is talk!"

A little embarrassed (I don't even know Emmett and Ted; this is only the second time I've met them, and the first time, I didn't even learn their names), I argue, "I don't talk all the time! Uh…Matt and I do a lot of things together. We even went to a gallery the other day."

Ted's eyes widen, Emmett explodes in a flurry of clapping hands and giggles, and Daphne asks, "You went on a date?"

I nod and smile, so brightly.

Ted, mute up until now, finally speaks, "Now that you and Matt are…uh…talking, you better be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to spend all your time with him talking."

I smile shyly. "I don't know. He's an incredible conversationalist!"

Daphne laughs (Ted and Emmett do, too), but then she says, "No, Ted's right. You want Matt to think of you as more than someone he talks to, don't you?

I ponder that for a minute. I begrudgingly acknowledge (to myself) that I do. I don't want to just be a fuck to Brian.

A little hesitantly, I ask, "So what do I do?"

Emmett pipes up, "Ask Matt to go on another date with you."

Daphne adds, "And _don't_ do any talking."

I groan. Now that Brian and I are fucking, a day without sex just seems wrong. Unpleasant in the extreme.

"I can't even…talk to him afterward?"

Daphne shakes her head firmly. "You want Matt to enjoy your company, don't you? To be satisfied just hanging out?"

"I guess. But…if we don't talk as often, won't he lose interest? Maybe he'll start flirting with other people…you know, talking to them."

Daphne replies, "If he really likes you, he won't."

I'm suddenly overwhelmed by fear…A chill washes over me, and I feel a little dizzy. What if Brian doesn't really like me? What if he took one look at me and knew I'd be a total slut for him…and all the lead up was just him trying to get into my ass. I shake my head. No. No. That can't be. First, Brian could have anyone he wanted. He doesn't need to work for ass. Plus, the things Brian's told me…and the way he looked at me in the bathroom earlier. No. I'm sure Brian likes me. That he'd be happy to just hang out with me, no fucking.

I look back over my shoulder. My eyes are immediately drawn to Brian, who is surrounded by his stupid jock friends. He's smiling and laughing. I stare at him for a moment, just drinking in the sight of him, but then, nearly jump out of my skin when he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. He licks his lips, tilts his head, and smiles. I groan inwardly. Not having Brian's cock in my ass or in my mouth every chance I get is going to be almost impossible. I sigh heavily. Every time I look at him, I'm overwhelmed by the desire to tackle him onto the nearest flat surface, rip his clothes off, and lick, suck, and nibble on every inch of his naked body.

After school, I take my time at my locker. I want to miss the bus. I'm hoping that Brian will drive me home. So I organize and reorganize my books until the halls are all empty and then walk very slowly to the door to the parking lot. When I reach it, I see Brian's truck, but no Brian. I'd been kind of hoping that he'd be there leaning back against it, smirking, waiting for me. Fuck. Practice. Brian has football practice every afternoon (I suddenly remember). So I head out to the football field, a little quicker now. I'm so eager to see him, even if I won't be able to talk to him (and I don't mean fucking-talking, but actual talking).

When I get out there, I hang back behind the bleachers. The last thing I want is the thugs who were fucking with me earlier to notice me. I watch for about fifteen minutes before Brian catches sight of me. In that small span of time, I discover why Brian, who has more of a soccer player's build, is not only on the team but also its star. He has an incredible arm. He can throw the ball from one end of the field to the other and with startling accuracy. Not only that, but he's fast and has quick reflexes. When he doesn't have a good shot, he can fake out and dodge other players and then run like hell, leaving them in his dust. Brian's fucking amazing. I laugh. Like I didn't already know that.

So once I've come to that conclusion (again, but for a different reason), Brian turns my way. He smiles and runs his fingers through his hair, facing me, but pretending not to look at me, giving me a clear view of his half-naked body (I melt; sweat is rolling down his bronzed chest. I unconsciously lick my lips). Then he hunches over another player. When the ball pops up, he catches it and scans the field for a clear shot. Or so it would seem. But even though there are two guys open, Brian laughs, spins, and takes off running. He dodges players left and right (nearly being tagged twice), running like hell and (periodically) jumping or dodging. Finally, finally, he makes it all the way to the other side of the field and over the line. Brian's face splits into a broad grin, and he spikes the ball. His scrimmage teammates all pat him on the back or high five him, but he's not really paying attention to them. He's looking at me.

Brian's eyes are intense and serious for a moment. My heart stops beating, and I can't breathe. Was Brian showing off for me? Brian laughs then and tilts his head seductively. I shiver. If Brian and I were alone on the field right now, I would so be sucking his cock. That's most definitely the sweetest thing any boy has ever done for me (tried to impress me with his physical prowess).

I sigh. This 'less fucking' idea is looking even less appealing now. Well, as long as there's more other stuff…that would be tantamount to less fucking…I mean, we could spend a few hours doing other stuff and _then_ fuck…right? I hang my head. No I guess it wouldn't be the same. In this moment, I really hate Daphne and Ted. But only because they were right. If every encounter Brian and I have eventually leads to fucking…I'll never know whether Brian really truly likes me for me. But if he hangs out with me even when no fucking is involved, even when he knows there might be no fucking, then, then I would know for sure that he does (like me for me). Course that would mean not fucking him for two days at least. And at the moment, two days feels like forever. I just don't know if I have the willpower for that.


	18. How Will I Know, Part 2

After watching Brian for another twenty minutes, I decide I need to make myself scarce before the football players head my way, back toward the school. This move is geared not only to prevent Brian from being outed but also to preserve what remains of my sanity. Brian's sweaty half-naked body (so lithe yet chiseled, just like that of a Greek God) and damp chestnut hair are giving me an erection you can see from space. So I go back to the parking lot. I sit under a tree near Brian's truck and call Daphne. I need serious reinforcements if I'm going to be able to resist Brian for two days.

When Brian appears, I note that he showered after practice. Part of me is disappointed, but part of me is relieved. Brian doesn't even speak. He simply opens the passenger side door and waits. I jump up and climb in. Brian buckles my seat belt and then places a gentle kiss on my lips. I look up into Brian's eyes, and I'm lost. Soon we are kissing and groping. But then reality, and a harsh one, breaks in; we hear voices approaching and feet kicking up gravel. Brian presses his forehead against mine and then steps back and shuts the door.

Once we are underway, I ask, "Do you want to go to the movies with me tonight?"

Brian smiles. "Sure."

A little hesitantly, I inquire, "Would you mind if my friends came with us?"

Brian frowns. "Friends? Not that girly boy and the troll?"

Realizing that Brian must have been looking at me a lot during lunch (to have noticed Emmett and Ted), I flush with pleasure. Then I admit, in a slightly subdued voice, "Yeah…Emmett and Ted. Plus Daphne."

"Daphne's cool, but I don't know about the other two…Are they really friends of yours?"

"Well…new friends, but Daphne seems to like them a lot."

Brian looks over at me and then back at the road. Finally, he shrugs. "Sure, why not?" He says that as we pull into my driveway. No cars. That's right. My mom had a doctor's appointment scheduled for today. She must have waited for Molly to get off the bus and then left. That means Brian and I will be alone for at least an hour. I swallow hard.

Brian also notices the lack of cars. I can't help but smile as Brian pulls me into his lap so that I'm straddling him. He runs his hands over my ass and then up my back. He moves his hands up to my neck and draws me closer. Then his fingers are tangled in my hair, and he pulls me even closer. Before our lips even touch, my eyes are glazed over with lust, and I'm grinding against him. I just can't help it. It's like Brian has this gravitational pull. Whenever I'm close to him, I no longer have willpower. And the closer I am, the worse it is. Finally (the anticipation nearly kills me), Brian brushes his lips against mine and then thrusts his tongue into my mouth. It's like he catches fire the moment our lips meet. Suddenly he is pulling hair, kissing me so hard I feel like I've gotten the wind knocked out of me, and even occasionally biting my lips. He growls and then kisses me deeper and deeper, pulls me harder against him, and fists my hair more violently. I fucking love every second of it. When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and a little dizzy. The dark, intense look I see in Brian's eyes then causes me to draw my breath in sharply. In that moment, I want Brian so much that I could cry (not that I would, necessarily, but you get the idea).

That's when Daphne calls. I'm so glad Daphne, Ted, and Emmett agreed to accompany Brian and I to the movies. If we were alone, one of us would probably end up blowing or jerking the other off, or we'd end up fucking behind one of those huge curtains. Just thinking about it has me so hard (that plus the heavy petting) that I think I'll need to jerk off before we leave for the movies. If I don't, I'll have zero chance of resisting Brian. Why am I trying to do that again? Oh right. I desperately need to know whether Brian likes me for me or my ass. I sigh and climb out of the truck (Daphne's been talking to me, but I've been tuning her out until now).

"So…why don't you meet us at the pizza place near the theatre, say in thirty minutes?"

"Yeah, okay. See you soon."

I ask Brian to go to the theatre and get tickets for the 6:30 show of some comedy film Daphne wants to see. He quirks an eyebrow, but he does it. While he's gone, I take a shower, washing the dried cum off of my ass and jerking off to thoughts of Brian on the field. Then I change into 'regular' clothes, that is, clothes that actually fit me. By the time Brian returns, I'm feeling much more in control of myself. I leave a note for my mom, and we go to meet Daphne, Ted, and Emmett. When we get there, the two seats available at the table are across from each other. Brian frowns, but he sits down without complaint.

I introduce Brian to Ted and Emmett. He smiles, but it's a tense smile. Thankfully, his discomfort is diffused when Daphne grabs my hand and whispers frantically, "Oh my God! _He's_ here!"

I look around (we all do) and ask, "Who?"

Daphne blushes and replies (looking at the table), "The guy from my English class. The hot guy who smiled at me."

To everyone's surprise, Brian inquires softly, "Where?"

In a strained whisper, Daphne responds, "Jukebox."

We all check him out. He has big green eyes and shaggy blond hair. Not bad. Definitely cute.

Brian nods at him. "That's Tom Jacobs."

Daphne looks over at Brian, her eyes wide. "You know him?"

"Yeah. We were both in little league. He was on my team. He stayed in baseball, when I tried out for the football team, but we still talk at parties."

Then Brian stands and approaches him. Daphne lets out a squeak in protest, but Brian doesn't stop. She looks on (though trying to appear not to be watching) in horror as Brian and Tom talk and laugh. Finally Brian returns to the table, with Tom in tow. I can't help but gape when Brian introduces Tom and informs us that Tom wants to see the movie we'd planned to see. "Do you mind if he tags along?"

After a shocked silence, we all shake our heads. Brian offers Tom his chair (he was sitting next to Daphne) and grabs another. He places it beside mine. So while Daphne and Tom flirt (Daphne giggling and barely able to meet Tom's eyes and Tom providing occasional answers to Daphne's questions and shifting uncomfortably in his seat), Brian slips his hand under the table (the tablecloth provides cover). He grabs my hand and threads our fingers together, resting both our hands on my leg. I can't even eat. I just sit there with a stupid grin on my face.

When we get to the theatre, Ted, Emmett, Brian, and I go to grab seats while Daphne and Tom are at the concession stand getting popcorn and candy for everyone. As we are sitting down, Emmett jumps in front of Brian and plops down in between us. Brian just stares at Emmett for a moment. Then he asks, his voice containing annoyance, "Would you mind if I sat next to my boyfriend?" Emmett and I are both stunned. Brian actually called me his boyfriend. Granted, Emmett's clearly gay, but still. It feels huge. I swallow hard and suddenly feel warm all over. Then when Emmett looks over at me as though asking if it's okay, Brian growls, "That's it," steps out of the aisle, and walks around to the other side (where I'm sitting). He grabs my wrist and pulls me up and then out of the theatre. He says nothing on the walk to the truck. He says nothing as he opens the door and waits for me to get in. He says nothing as we drive away. He drives for several minutes, still saying nothing. He pulls over by the overlook, where teenagers (generally heterosexual teenagers) go to make out and fuck. But being a weekday and still early, no one else is there. He turns off the truck and sits there for a minute, still saying nothing. Finally, in a low growl, he asks, "What the fuck, Sunshine?"

My voice a low rasp, I reply, "What?"

He turns to face me then, his eyes cold and narrowed. He doesn't say anything. He just waits.

I look down and shrug. "I just started to worry. It's stupid."

In a softer voice, Brian asks, "What? Tell me."

"Ted and Daphne said that if all we ever did was fuck…" I couldn't even finish. Saying it out to Brian made me feel foolish.

"What? That that means I don't really like you?"

I shrug. I still can't force myself to look at Brian.

Brian sighs. Then hesitantly, he confesses, "Would it help to know…you're the only one…"

I look up then. I'm not sure what he's telling me. "Now or ever?"

In a croak, he responds, "Ever."

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Two heartbeats later, I'm in Brian's lap straddling him. And a couple of minutes after that we're both naked, and I'm riding him. The whole time we're fucking, I'm kissing him. The taste of him is intoxicating (more so than before, if that's even possible), and I need to be as connected to him as possible. Even then, his dick in my ass, his tongue in my mouth, his hands in my hair, it's not enough. My chest aches as I realize that no amount of connection will ever be enough. It's official. I'm madly, irrevocably in love with Brian.

TBC…


	19. Homecoming Week Arrives

Daphne and I are walking down the hall, dodging peppy preppies who are standing on ladders, tossing rolls of red and white (the Carnegie Bobcats team colors) crepe paper to one another, twisting long lengths of it, and taping the strands cross-wise throughout the hall. I sigh. It's officially homecoming week. And I hate homecoming. Well, maybe a little less now that it's a celebration in which I have a vested interest, a celebration of the football team Brian captains. God. Brian looked so hot on the field the other day, all sweaty and half-naked and smiling at me. _The one_…no…_one of_ _the_ bad things about homecoming is that Brian has two practices a day every day leading up to the big game. Hence, I rode the bus today and would be doing so all week.

"So are you going to go to the dance with smiling boy?"

"You mean Tom?"

"Is that his name?"

"Yes! It should be easy enough to remember. 'Every _Tom_, Dick, and Harry.' He gets top billing!"

"So…_is_ Tom taking you to the homecoming dance?"

Daphne sighs. "He hasn't asked me yet."

I nudge Daphne and grin. "You gotta lock that shit down!"

"Pfft. What am I supposed to do?"

"Uh…ask _him_?"

Daphne stops in the middle of the hall and turns to face me, a big smile on her face. "You know what? I will. Right after you ask Brian."

I shake my head and start walking again. "What?"

She follows, yelling, "You heard me!"

"Daph!"

"What?"

"That is _not_ the same!"

"At least you and Brian are dating!"

"Shhh!" In a lower voice, I say, "Not publicly. You know there's no way I can go the Homecoming dance or any dance with Brian, right?"

"Why shouldn't you? What are you gonna do? Miss every high school milestone?"

I sigh a little desolately. "I don't know…I guess so."

"That's so unfair!" After a long pause, she continues, more cheerfully, her enthusiasm building up speed with each word, "Well…you guys could just go stag. I mean, you couldn't slow dance with each other, but you could dance together as part of a group. And dress nice. And Brian could pick you up." At the end, she jumps a little and claps.

I laugh. "You've been spending too much time with Emmett." I dodge a swat and then frown. "I don't know, Daph...Somehow I doubt Brian would want to do that."

"What's the harm in asking?"

"He could say hell, no."

She presses, "So what? Tom could say no to me, too. Just because no one would blink an eye if we went together doesn't mean he'll say yes. At least with Brian, you already know he likes you. I don't have a clue whether or not Tom likes me."

"He does."

"So you say."

I roll my eyes. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"You ask Brian, and I'll ask Tom. If they say no, we can stay home and throw darts at pictures of them. And if they say yes, we can go together!" Another bounce clap.

"But what if one says yes, and one says no?"

"Oh…ummm…if Tom says yes and Brian says no, I won't go. How about that?"

"And if Brian says yes and Tom says no, I'll leave you in the dust!"

Daphne attempts to slug me in the arm. This time, I'm too slow to parry or dodge.

"Ow! Geez, Daph. I was just kidding."

"So…it's a deal, then?"

I smile. "Deal."

"Great. Now we just have to ask."

I sigh. "Yeah. Great."

**********

Today is chocolate chip cookie day in Home Ec.

"Okay, so we have to preheat the oven to 325º"

Brian spins the dial. "Done."

"Now we have to mix two cups of flour, a half teaspoon of baking soda, and a half teaspoon of salt and sift it together."

"Sunshine, nobody else is sifting."

"Do you want to win this thing or not?"

Brian raises an eyebrow.

I tilt my head toward Brian and whisper, "I found this recipe online. It's better than the one Mrs. Newman gave us. Our cookies will be soft and chewy, while everyone else's will be hard and crumb-y. We'll get the A+ for sure. Trust me." The ingredients in the sifter and the sifter over the bowl, I start squeezing the handle. Click, click, click.

"Won't she be miffed that we didn't follow her recipe?"

I shake my head sagely. "There's no room for pride in the kitchen, Brian. Taste is king."

Brian steps behind me and leans forward. He's so close I can feel a few strands of his chestnut hair brush against my neck. I shiver. He whispers, "I think you mean queen." As he says queen, he presses his groin against my ass. He's partially erect. I close my eyes and release a shuddery breath. That should be criminal.

"Ummm…Brian…" I swallow hard. "Could you grab the butter from the fridge?"

Brian steps back quickly and does a spin on the way.

I look over. "No, no. The unsalted."

Brian sighs, but tosses the salted back in and grabs the unsalted. "Is all this really necessary?"

"Do you want an A+ or not?"

Brian hands me the butter, a blank expression on his face. He's staring at me with unblinking eyes. Then he shrugs. "I'm shooting for a football scholarship. I can live without an A+ in Home Ec. Plus, I have better things to do than participate in your obsessive compulsive cookie-making endeavor."

Speechless for a moment, I just blink. Then something occurs to me. I look Brian up and down, lost in thought. I smile. "How about we make this interesting?"

Brian raises an eyebrow, a smile creeping across his lips. "What are you proposing?"

"You help me in my obsessive compulsive cookie-making endeavor, and if we earn a perfect grade, I get to ask something of you. Something you have to do, no matter what it is."

"And if we don't?"

"You get to ask something of me. Something I have to do, no matter what it is."

"Who says there's something I want you to do?"

I laugh. "I know there is. A great many somethings."

"Such as?"

"Apart from the obvious?"

Brian shrugs. "I get that anyway."

I scoff, "If you're lucky."

Brian smirks (a smirk bordering on a leer). "Depriving me would mean depriving yourself, too."

"Supposing you're right…"

There's that smirk-leer again. "Oh, I'm right."

"Supposing you're right…there must be something you'd take pleasure in watching me do…something I'd consider unsavory."

Brian narrows his eyes for a moment. Then he lets his head fall, a strange look on his face. But when he lifts his head once more, he's grinning. "Football."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"Let me teach you how to play. I've seen you throw. It's pitiful."

I frown, even wrinkling my nose in disgust.

Brian drawls, "I thought this recipe was a shoe-in…"

I straighten up and smile brightly, though I'm getting a little nervous. "It is. Deal. But we'd better hurry, or the bet is moot." I hand back the butter. "This needs to be melted."

Brian sighs, but unwraps it and tosses it in a bowl.

"Wait…you only need half of that."

"The recipe says a half cup. That's a half cup."

"Yeah…But I'm gonna use a trick my mom taught me." I plan to use every weapon in my arsenal. Brian and I are going to that dance. "Half butter, half shortening. Prevents flat cookies."

Brian rolls his eyes, but rewraps half the stick of butter, puts it back in the fridge, and grabs the bucket of shortening from the cupboard.

I smile. I'm sooo gonna win the bet.

TBC…later tonight if work isn't too busy


	20. A Reality Check

I'll save you all the suspense. Our cookies came out perfect (soft and chewy, not flat or burned), so we got the A+. Now we're cleaning up. We have about five minutes left of class. I'm beaming. If Brian's disappointed, he's not showing it.

As Brian dries and stows the last few dishes, he drawls, "So…what is it that I've gotten myself into?"

I bite my bottom lip. Then I say, "Homecoming."

Brian stiffens. "What about homecoming?"

I shrug, trying to look calm, which I'm anything but. "The dance on Saturday."

From his tone of voice, I can tell Brian's discomfort is growing. "What about it?"

I look down. I suddenly feel stupid. "I…I want us…to go together."

Brian's eyes widen, and he swallows hard. When he finally speaks, he drops his voice a shade. "As….what? A couple?"

I blush and shake my head. I lower my voice, too. "No, no. Of course not. I mean, just as friends."

"Friends? Are we?"

I snap my head up. "Are we what? Friends?"

Brian just blinks.

"I don't understand what you mean."

Brian slides closer to me, but turns around, pretending to look out the window. Then he whispers, "We're boyfriends or whatever outside of school, but what are we here?" After a pause, he answers his own question. "Nothing."

I gape for a moment. Then I whisper back, "If that's true, why did you deign to be seen with me at the pizza place and the movies? I mean, your old friend Tom was there, right? Anyone could have seen us together."

Brian shrugs. He's still looking out the window. Anyone seeing him now would think he was talking about the weather. "Tom's not a friend. Not really. We don't run in the same circle anymore. And the pizza and the movie…that was one time and not homecoming."

"What are you saying? We can't even _hang out_ publicly? What about when you took me to the art museum and when we went to the grocery store? You didn't seem to care whether people saw us together, not until now."

Finally some signs of life. Brian sighs and looks down.

"Did something happen?"

Brian shrugs. "Some of the guys were saying things at practice this morning…"

"What kinds of things?"

"Things about you…"

"Ah. I can just imagine what those Neanderthals have to say about me. So…what? I have to pretend not to even know you?"

Brian runs a hand through his hair. Even now, he looks beautiful. The blond and red highlights in his hair glinting in the sunshine streaming through the window. "I don't know, I just…"

"What?"

Brian turns so that he's facing me. Most of the class is milling about by the door, waiting for the bell to ring. "I finally made captain this year, and I'm counting on getting a football scholarship. If word gets out about us…I could lose my chance."

"You're saying that you'd be kicked off the team if people found out we were friends?"

"No. But if we're seen together at all…I mean, I joke all the time about my being gay, but I've never met anyone I've wanted to be with seriously…so it didn't matter. It was just words. If I start hanging out with a guy who's believed to be gay…"

I cross my arms. "You are such a hypocrite. Bragging about how you tell the truth, but then wanting to lie when someone might actually believe it."

"Sunshine…"

I look down. I suddenly feel sick.

Brian starts again, "Justin…I can't get kicked off the football team. Football's the key to my future. Even if my parents had the money, which they don't, they still wouldn't pay my college tuition."

Weakly, I suggest, "You could get an academic scholarship."

Brian's no longer pleading, but defensive now. "Yeah, right. Not one that would pay for all four years. Those are for overachievers like you, who kill themselves getting A+s in every class, even home ec. No. Football's what I do best."

I sigh. Heavily. "I understand. I do. It's just…"

In a hiss, Brian replies, "Just what? Were you hoping that one day I'd hold your hand as we walk down the hall? Carry your books? Take you to prom?"

I blink a few times. I'd rather not explain why. Then I hiss back, "You know what? Fuck you, Brian. Fuck you."

As luck would have it, that's when the bell rings. I grab my book bag off the table and run out of class. I'm pissed (and hurt), but mostly because that's exactly what I was hoping for. Not the handholding and book carrying. But that by prom, we'd both be out and proud. That maybe we could go together, and not just as friends. Maybe even slow dance. Suddenly everything seems pointless. If Brian continues to play football, not only in high school and college but also professionally, he'll probably have to stay in the closet. And if we stayed together, I'd have to be in there with him. It's probably stupid to worry about something so far into the future. I mean, our relationship is still very new. But already I love him. I'm in love with him. Somehow I doubt that will ever change.

I don't even bother getting lunch. I think I'd puke if I attempted to eat anything. I just sit down at the table Daphne and I call ours. She's late. As are Ted and Emmett. A few minutes after sitting down, I find myself looking back at the jock table. I'm not even sneaky about it. I just gape. Brian's sitting on the heating vent, as he always does, his feet on the bench, surrounded, again as always, by his imbecilic minions. Brian's laughing…telling a story. Fucking asshole. Didn't I learn my lesson well enough with Chris Hobbs? Football players are bad news. At least for me. Unexpectedly, Brian turns his head my way. Our eyes meet. The look in his…seems almost contrite. I turn away quickly. I sigh. Then I get up.

Daphne, who had apparently arrived while I was mooning over Brian (along with Ted and Emmett), calls after me, "Where are you going? Aren't you going to eat lunch?"

I barely manage a "Not hungry. See you later."

I head to the nearest bathroom. Once there, I toss my book bag onto the sink and lean against the wall. Then I let myself slide down until I'm sitting, with my knees up, and begin an internal lament.

Why did I have to come to this school? Why did I have to meet Brian? I was perfectly happy being asexual at St. James. Well maybe not perfectly happy, but not miserable, like I am now.

I bury my head in my hands. More thinking.

Should I break up with Brian…possibly saving myself further pain? Or is it too late? Is Brian worth all the hassle secretly dating him would mean?

I start a mental list.

Brian's exceptionally hot. Maybe the hottest guy I've ever seen.

The sex is phenomenal.

I (deep sigh) love him.

I think he loves me, too.

He can be very sweet (he took me to an art gallery…went out with me and my friends and even hooked Daphne up with Tom).

My listmaking is interrupted by the whoosh of the door opening. But I don't look up until I hear the lock click.

When I do, as I expect, I see Brian. I sigh. I moan (seriously), "Go away."

Brian acts like he didn't hear, sitting down next to me.

"Seriously. Go away. I think I've had enough talking for today."

"Justin…look…I…fuck." Brian stands up and starts pacing. "I…like you. A lot."

I roll my eyes. "Gee, I feel so special."

Brian tilts his head and clenches his jaw. Apparently he's unimpressed. His eyes lose focus then. Like he's debating something in his head. Finally, he says, "I've never had a (dropping his voice a shade) boyfriend. I've never wanted one. Now…I do. I want you to be my (dropping his voice even lower) boyfriend. But…does that mean I have to lose everything else?"

I sigh and then frown. "I don't want to cost you anything, Brian. Really. This situation just…"

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

Brian sits down next to me again. "Look…maybe I'm being a little…"

I laugh as I interject, "Paranoid?"

Brian laughs, too. "Yeah. Maybe." After a long pause, he adds, "I guess I could say that our parents are friends and that I have to hang out with you sometimes."

"Wow. You would seriously tell people that?"

Brian looks at me helplessly. "Or…that you're my tutor."

I huff a laugh. Not a joyful one. More like jaded. "Casting me as a loser or a geek. Just great." I sigh, but then laugh again, this time a merrier one. "Do whatcha gotta do. I don't give a shit about my reputation. All I really care about is that we can be seen together without hurting yours."

"We can. We can." I'm not sure who he's trying to convince. Him or me.

"But…can we skip homecoming? Do something else on Saturday? I'd never be able to explain that."

If I had any real inclination to say no…or to break up with Brian, it would have faded the second he slipped his hand into mine, threading our fingers together.

"Yeah. Sure."

And disappeared completely when he placed a gentle kiss on my lips and pressed his forehead against mine.

I'm officially fucked. What wouldn't I do if it means I get to be with Brian? I love him. So fucking much.

TBC…

A/N: Justin's behaving a little inconsistently (with A Brave New World, Part 1) because he's a teenager and in love (and because he finally gets what's at stake for Brian). He's not taking a stand here (or making Brian take one), but that doesn't mean that he won't in the future.


	21. Studying and a Phone Call

A/N: Work's been busy, and I haven't been feeling well. I know I've positively murdered my schedule...so I'm just gonna try to update Little Ray, , Pieces II, My Beloved, The Dark Night of Brian's Soul, and The Forbidden in the next week, starting tomorrow after I post the last part of the QAF Babies update. I hope you all like this part...I never know whether the Emmett/Daphne/Ted/Justin interaction is interesting...There's some B/J at the end (so I hope this part isn't a total loss if the friend stuff is boring)

Daphne and I are at her house studying (lying on our stomachs on her bed). Ted and Emmett are here, too. Ted's lying on the floor reading his economics textbook (he's a year ahead of the rest of us), and Emmett's sitting at Daph's vanity table, trying on red sparkly lip gloss. It's Wednesday. Brian's been too busy with (and tired from) the double practices to spend any time with me outside class and the occasional bathroom chat. We haven't had sex since the weekend. I'm starting to get pissy.

Daphne looks up from her history book. "So…I finally asked Tom to the dance." Emmett does one of his patented jump-claps. "What did he say?"

Ted looks up from his end-of-chapter list of terms: From here, I see embargo, quota, subsidy, and tariff. I look over at Daphne, forcing myself to smile. I even poke her side. "He said yes, didn't he?"

Daphne bites back a bright smile and nods slowly. "Uh-huh."

"Daph, quit it!" I slam my book closed for emphasis. She jumps.

"What?"

"Don't hide, or try to hide, your happiness. So what if things kind of suck for me right now? That doesn't mean I'm not happy for you."

Softly she asks, "Yeah?"

I force myself to smile again. "Yeah."

Daphne tosses her book aside and crawls over to me. Then she grins like the Cheshire cat. "My mom said I can wear her black dress. The top is velvet and the bottom satin. It's _strapless_!"

Emmett ooos. I say, "Sounds hot!"

"Yeah…God…what if one of my boobs falls out? You know, if I dance too much to fast songs?"

Ted and Emmmett exchange a glance and grimace slightly.

I suggest, "Maybe they'll oust the homecoming queen and give you her crown."

"Nah…you have to be a senior to be queen." Daphne grins. "Maybe the homecoming princess's crown though." After a long pause, she asks, "So are you planning to go to the pep rally tonight?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Mmmm…I don't know. Brian said he wants me to go, but I think it would hurt too much to not be able to talk to him."

"You have to!"

Emmett echoes Daphne, "Yeah, you have to!"

Even Ted nods solemnly.

"Why?" I'm seriously baffled.

Daphne explains, "It's a big night for Brian. He'll have to make a speech and light the bonfire. Plus, he might get voted homecoming prince."

"He has to make a speech?"

Daphne nods.

"How do you know all this?"

"Tom told me."

I freeze. "Daph, you didn't let on about Brian and me to Tom, did you?"

"No! I swear. I just asked him what was gonna happen at the pep rally. He's taking me. It was a natural question."

"Oh. Okay. Huh."

"What?"

"Brian didn't tell me any of that."

"Maybe he didn't want to pressure you into going. He probably guessed that you'd feel uncomfortable, you know, pretending and everything. Plus, he's gotta know that your going to the rally would sting a bit, since you can't go to the dance."

"Yeah…Shit…I really do have to go, don't I? I wonder if he's nervous."

"I would be. Making a speech in front of the whole school." Daphne shivers. "I wouldn't be caught dead doing that."

I smile and roll onto my back. "Brian's being captain of the football team sucks, for obvious reasons, but it's also kind of cool. Makes me feel proud….knowing that all the varsity football players and most of the school love and admire him as much, or almost as much, as I do."

Daphne pushes me. "Listen to you all bragging about your boyfriend."

I sigh. "You're the only person I _can_ brag to."

"Ted and Emmett know, too…"

"Woo hoo." I even twirl a finger. "A whopping three people."

"Well…you should be happy that Brian asked you to come to the rally. That says something, right? That he wants you to be there for his big day."

I smile more brightly then. "Yeah. I guess it does…"

Emmett joins us on the bed. "You're missing the most important part!"

"What?"

Whispering now, Emmett explains, "Brian's your boyfriend! He doesn't kiss anyone else or fuck anyone else. I wish I had a boyfriend. Even a secret one." He sighs dramatically and lies back on the bed. "The love that dare not speak its name…"

I giggle, but then shake my head. "He hasn't said he loves me."

Out of the blue, Ted speaks. "That's not the most important part."

Emmett sits up and crosses his arms. "What is then?"

"Justin doesn't have to jerk off to porn. He gets to have sex, and with Brian Kinney. He's hot!"

Emmett smiles and pats my arm. "That he is."

I beam. "True…though I haven't been getting any lately. He's been too tired from practice." Suddenly scared, I sit straight up. "You don't think he's trying to brush me off, do you?"

Daphne pushes me. "No! Why would he invite you to the pep rally if he were?"

I lie back on the bed, lost in thought. "Hmmm…good point."

I jump when my cell phone rings. I grin when I see that it's Brian. But I let it ring twice more before I answer. "Hey."

"Hey. Whatcha doing?"

"Not much. Studying."

"You coming tonight?"

"Ummm…I want to, but I'm not sure my mom'll be able to lend me the car."

Emmett pipes up, "I can drive," but I cut him off with a dark look and a wave.

"Isn't Daphne going?"

"Yeah, but Tom's taking her. It's like a date. I wouldn't want to intrude."

Daphne's laughing softly and making faces at me. To her, I'm completely transparent.

Brian sighs. I close one eye and grimace. This isn't going the way I'd hoped. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Brian says, "I…" and then in a firmer voice, "I can pick you up. I have to get something from my house anyway."

My stomach's doing backflips now. Daphne was right about how important tonight is to Brian…and how important I must be to him if he wants me there so much. I mean, he already asked me…if he didn't care one way or another, he wouldn't have called to be sure…or offered me a ride. I close my other eye and press my lips together. Time to go in for the kill. Hesitantly, I ask, "Will you be able to drive me home, too?"

"Yeah." Pause. "Sure."

The pause has me a little worried, but mostly I'm excited, so excited I feel like I could do cartwheels. The drought ends tonight! I have no intention of going home after the pep rally (I'll tell my mom that I'm going to the pep rally with Daphne and that it'll be so late when I get back that I'll just stay at Daph's. Being the wonderful son that I am, I wouldn't want to wake her up). I might even suck Brian off on the way to the rally. I flush just thinking about it. I stand and walk as far from Ted, Emmett, and Daphne as I can get (without leaving the room). Then I whisper, "I've missed you."

Pause. "I…I've missed you, too, Sunshine." Brian's voice is husky. God. His response, particularly the emotion in his voice, actually gives me a shiver. A fully body shiver. I was so afraid that Brian was making excuses not to see me, you know, since our fight. I know…we made up and everything, but still, I thought he was trying to put distance between us. Maybe he has just been busy.

It takes everything in me _not_ to blurt out, "I love you." Ever since I realized (after we left the movie theatre), I've been dying to tell him. But I don't want to scare him off. That goes double now that Brian has to keep me and us a secret.

Brian clears his throat. "So, I'll pick you up in a couple of hours."

Fuck…if he picks me up from home, my mom'll know I'm not going to the rally with Daphne…but Brian won't want to pick me up from Daphne's if he might run into Tom.

"Ummm…how about I meet you at your house?"

"Okay…let's say 7pm."

I'm smiling so hard it hurts a little. "Okay. Later."

"Later…"

TBC…


	22. Sweet Nothing

After I hang up with Brian, I ask Emmett to drive me to my house. I only have two hours to get ready and get over to Brian's house. Once home, I take a shower. In fact, I stay in there until the water runs cold. I relish in its warmth and the slipperiness of the soap I'm rubbing all over my body, thinking about how Brian will smell, how various parts of him will feel…and, best of all, how they'll feel inside of me. I imagine us kissing. I imagine myself down on my knees sucking Brian off. Finally, I imagine Brian on his knees, pushing his dick inside me. Then I'm jerking off. Slow. So slowly. I lick my lips, swallow hard, and close my eyes, moving so that I'm standing directly under the water. When my orgasm finally comes, it nearly takes my consciousness with it. I lean against the wall, head first, eyes still closed, trying to catch my breath, to slow my rapidly beating heart.

When I emerge from the bathroom, in the center of a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped tight around my waist, my dad, who I didn't even know was home (these days, he doesn't usually leave work before 8pm), steps in front of me. He looms large in our tiny hallway. He yells, "You were in there 45 minutes! You know that?"

I step back a little. "Oh…was I?"

"Do you know how much hot water costs?"

"I…"

"Do it again and you'll be stuck taking baths for the next two years! Money doesn't grow on trees, you know, and, pretty soon, I'll have another mouth to feed."

I look down. "Sorry, dad."

My dad grunts and walks past me to his and my mom's bedroom. He calls downstairs, "Wake me when dinner's ready, Jennifer."

I sigh and walk into my bedroom. Sometimes I really hate my dad. He's always yelling at me. I frown once I open the door to my tiny closet. All my clothes suck. I examine the shirts and pants hanging there one by one. My frown deepens with every item I go through. I don't even see my mom until she's behind me.

She teases, "A 45-minute shower, huh?"

I blush a little. But I play dumb. "What?"

"Is someone you like going to be at the pep rally tonight?"

"Ummm…yeah."

"A cheerleader?"

I bite back a laugh. Then I turn around. "No…but someone popular."

My mom smiles brightly and sits on my bed. God. My mom's almost giggling. "Did you ask that someone to the homecoming dance?"

I sigh and nod. "The answer was no."

My mom stands and rubs my shoulder. "I'm sorry, honey."

I shrug.

"Here, wait a second."

My mom goes into her bedroom, but returns a minute later. She hands me a small box. "I was saving this for Christmas, but I think you could use it now."

I take it. It's cologne. Calvin Klein's Euphoria. "Mom…how much did this cost?"

My mom smooths my hair, pushing a stray hair off my forehead. Then she whispers, "Never you mind. If your father asks, I got it on sale."

When I smell it, I feel like laughing. It's perfect. "Thanks, mom!"

My mom smiles and starts to leave. "Well, I better let you get ready." Just as she's about to walk through the door, she stops, turning back. "Be persistent. Your dad asked me out four times before I said yes."

"Really?"

My mom smiles and nods. "In fact, on Saturdays and Sundays, he used to drive up and down the road I worked on around the time I got off. Up and down until he saw me." My mom laughs. "Course…I didn't know that until later. I just thought he had great timing. He did all that so he could offer me a ride home. We'd always end up going to this little bakery for lunch. His way of getting me to date him without dating him."

I shake my head and laugh. "Mom…that's a little pathetic…"

My mom shrugs. "Never underestimate the power of sweetness. Soon I was falling head over heels in love with him. He was just so darn cute. And devoted. To him, I was the world. And that…_that_ was irresistible."

"That really worked?"

My mom smiles. "I married him, didn't I?"

On a whim, I grab a red button down shirt from the closet (red is one of the school colors, and white washes my skin out), holding it up against my chest and looking at myself in the mirror. Then I state softly, "Be persistent. Sweet."

I decide to wear dark jeans, but not super tight ones. The red shirt hangs kind of loose on me, too. I don't look super sexy, but good, I think. I sigh. I wish it was just going to be Brian and me. Then I wouldn't have to worry about whether or not I look "too gay." Course…now that I've been targeted by Brian's teammates, maybe it doesn't matter.

I throw myself back onto the bed. Last week, I felt so free and happy. Now…I'm terrified. Terrified that Brian will end things between us. Terrified that if he doesn't, I'll be what wrecks his life. That he'll end up hating me.

I stand and approach the mirror. I run my fingers through my hair. That gives me a shiver. I can't help but remember all the times Brian's run his fingers through my hair. That decides it. No product. It'll make me seem "less gay," too. But I put on some of the cologne my mom bought me. I laugh at myself as I do. I put it places Brian is unlikely to kiss me, places I've seen my mom put on perfume: behind my ears and in the crooks of my arms. I feel a little silly, but I doubt Brian would enjoy licking cologne off my neck…and I really, really want him to lick, suck, and nibble on my neck.

Walking to Brian's usually takes 15 minutes, so I leave 30 minutes early. I don't want to get all sweaty. When I arrive (10 minutes early), I stand on the corner (a few houses down) and pace. I feel ridiculous (a man walking his dog and two kids on bikes look at me funny as they pass).

At 6:55pm, I decide to brave the fence and hope the basement door is open. Miraculously, I manage to hop the fence without ending up on my back. Of course, that has to happen when Brian isn't there to see it. I tremble a little as I reach for the knob, praying that it will turn. If I have to stand out here for 5 minutes and then knock…I'll be so embarrassed. And what if Brian's dad hears? Fuck. I should just go back over the fence…back to the corner. If Brian's dad wanders into his room before Brian gets home…I'll be totally fucked. For obvious reasons, he terrifies me, though I've only ever seen his feet. Even his feet were scary. Huge and troll-like. And wearing leather slippers. Who wears leather slippers?

Finally, I take a deep breath and try the knob. I almost giggle. It's open. Then I slip inside, shutting the door softly and tiptoeing around the partition. My heart nearly explodes out of my chest when I see someone standing there, in front of the bed. He's facing away from me and leaning over, and I'm scared. I can't tell who it is, and I can't stop. I actually run right into the person. I close my eyes and start praying, "Don't be Brian's dad. Don't be Brian's dad. Don't be Brian's dad."

The person swivels around, catching me in his arms. Oh God. I know those arms. I breathe a sigh of relief and open my eyes. "Brian…thank God it's you."

Brian chuckles. "Who else would it be?" God that chuckle. I haven't heard that chuckle since Monday…before the real world burst into our relationship. Why can't it just be us? Why? Why? Why? Then Brian's holding me, tight against him, and whispering, "You smell good," and I don't care about anything anymore. I'd do anything, suffer anything, just to have more moments like this.

I smile. My mom was right about the cologne. Maybe she's right about the sweetness and the persistence, too.

I ooph (I suddenly find myself pushed up against Brian's paneled wall). Brian's fingers are in my hair (I was so right about not using hair gel)…he's leaning in, staring at my lips. I can't breathe. Then he leans in even closer and draws the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip. I suddenly feel all warm and melty. Brian presses his lips against mine and nudges my nose. I shiver. It's like a trill running through me, so gentle. I let my eyes flutter closed and moan softly. Brian sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and then presses his lips against mine again. I slide my hands around Brian's waist and hold on. I've missed kissing Brian so much, probably more than I've missed the sex, and this kiss…It's different somehow. Slower…more tender. More about just being close and touching than about getting hard, though, of course, I am hard. So fucking hard. Brian brushes his lips against mine and then, finally, finally, pushes his tongue into my mouth. But slow. I grip his waist tighter. I'm seriously afraid I'll lose my balance, or faint. Brian kisses me slowly, so, so, so slowly. Waves of heat and trilling tingles wash down through me. I'm so lost that when Brian pulls away, I just stand there, eyes closed, mouth still open, hands still clinging to his waist. And then it comes out. What I'd desperately been trying to keep in. A whispered "I love you." Realizing (a second after I say it) what I said, my eyes shoot open.

I look down (I can't take Brian's wide eyes staring at me…or the fear in them). I mumble, "Uh…I…mean…"

Brian lifts my chin up with a finger. The tender, rolling laughter is back in his voice. He drawls, "You what?"

I swallow hard. "I…nothing. Nothing."

Brian leans in then, his lips a hair's breadth from mine, and whispers, "I nothing, too."

What???

Then he's pulling me out of his room, through the basement door, and across the backyard to the gate.

Did Brian just kind of tell me he loves me, too? I spend the ride back to school wondering. Peeking at Brian and wondering. He looks so calm. So unperturbed. I don't understand. When we get to school, Brian drives past the parking lot and parks on the side of the road. Smart. No one except maybe parents dropping kids off will drive this far down the road. Brian leans over and kisses me, just a gentle brush of the lips. "See you inside."

I smile a little. "Yeah."

Then he's gone, walking across the school's front lawn. Still in a daze, I get out slow. I wait a few minutes and then head across the lawn myself.

Very little sinks in after that. I remember seeing Daphne and Tom, holding hands, both smiling (Daphne's the physical soundless representation of a giggle, Tom's shy, but happy). I remember Emmett and Ted dragging me off to the bleachers outside. Then the stomp, stomp, clap of the crowd. That just draws me deeper into my haze. The coach speaks first. Nothing he says reaches my ears. I'm looking at Brian. He's in his uniform, holding his helmet, standing next to the coach. The other players are standing behind them.

Then it's Brian's turn. I laugh-smile when Emmett rubs my leg excitedly. Before Brian utters word one, he scans the crowd. My heart stops. Is he looking for me?

God.

He is.

I know because he smiles softly and then starts speaking the moment our eyes meet.

Brian says a lot during his speech, but mostly, I just hear the nothings. I laugh. Sweet nothings. Literally. Not whispered. But shouted to a crowd of maybe a thousand. A crowd of students, parents, teachers, and alumni.

"Nothing's going to stop the Bobcats from creaming the PunxsutawneyWoodchucks on Saturday."

Some other stuff.

"We suffered a setback last year, with the rain and Grant's injury, but, nothing, nothing's going to stop us this year. We've been training hard, and we're in the best shape we've ever been in."

Some other stuff.

"This year, nothing, not rain, snow, or sleet, not even Armageddon itself, nothing will prevent us from being victorious. We're not just going to destroy the Woodchucks on Saturday. No. We're going to the championships this year, and we're gonna win."

In the course of Brian's speech, I'm pretty sure he introduced the other football players. And there was definitely more shit talk. Plus, Brian said he was proud of captaining the team this year in particular. I can't remember what reason he gave. All I could hear were the nothings. And all I could see were Brian's eyes on me. They never left mine. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Brian. But sweet. So fucking sweet.

Then Emmett, Ted, and I are walking to the other side of the school, where the bonfire is to take place. Daphne and Tom are walking a little ahead of us, still holding hands, but now whispering, too. I'm looking ahead of me, but not really seeing anything. That's how they take me by surprise. Two of Brian's teammates rush me, barreling into me and sending me into a table full of refreshments. They manage to catch themselves so that they don't tumble with me. They mutter, "Fag" and stride off, laughing as they go. I lie there, on the broken table, covered in punch and frosting (from the cake), but all I can hear is nothing. I don't hear the hundreds of students laughing at me. Or the worry in Emmett and Daphne's voices as they pull me up. Not really.

And when Brian catches my eye, I smile. Brightly.

All I hear, all I've been hearing since Brian pulled me out of his bedroom, is "I nothing, too."

TBC…


	23. Walk of Shame

A/N: I really, really hope this doesn't suck. But it could. I'm feeling a little off my game tonight.

So, yeah, I'm at the pep rally, covered in frosting and punch. Daphne and Emmett are flanking me, their hands on my arms, leading me away from the crowd of gaping onlookers, as though I were suddenly disabled. I'm covered in fluffy white (tasty) frosting and punch. The frosting is everywhere. On my clothes and my face, in my hair.

When we are halfway through the crowd, someone, a male someone, calls out, "Did you piss yourself, fag?" I recognize that voice. One of Brian's Neanderthals. My pants are soaked through with punch. Not in the least comfortable. In fact, I've started shivering.

Then it happens. Another someone, a different male someone yells, "Nah, he came in his pants after his boyfriend came on his face. He's Jizz-man. Hey Jizz-man!" Jism, jizz-man. Isn't he clever? Apparently, that's what most of the onlookers think. A chorus of identical yells ("Hey Jizz-man!") follows, intermixed with laughter. All male voices. Some of the girls are pointing and laughing, others wrinkling their noses and declaring, "Ewww … gross!"

Yeah. Life fucking sucks.

My cheeks are burning, but, everywhere else, I'm freezing cold.

I look at the ground and close my eyes. I don't need to see with Daphne and Emmett steering me, and I can't take much more of the mixture of revulsion and amusement (or, in the case of Daphne, Emmett, Ted, and Tom, pity, which might actually be worse) I see pretty much everywhere I look. I so don't want to see the expression in Brian's eyes. Would it be pity, too? Or shame? Scratch that. Only three people know we're together. Can't be shame. Maybe nothing. Maybe his eyes are empty, like they get when he's pretending not to care. When he's pretending things don't matter. I don't open my eyes until the voices fade. We're near the building, the back entrance by the gym. Only then do I look back, back at Brian. He's talking to Tom. Then Tom's running over to us. For a brief second, Brian's eyes flicker over to me. But he looks away almost immediately, too quickly for me to read the expression in his eyes, and turns toward the wrecked refreshments table and the crowd, and more specifically his teammates. One of them actually tosses him a football. Brian catches it and throws it back. I look away. I kind of have to. At this point, Daphne and Emmett are pushing me through the door.

Once they manage it, and we're in the hallway, suddenly, unaccountably angry (it's not their fault), I yank my arms away. I snap, "Get off."

Daphne and Emmett both freeze, as does Ted, who'd been quietly following us (I hadn't even noticed him). All three shoot me slightly scared, but still pitying looks. Unexpectedly, Tom steps forward, from behind me, and, despite the frosting and punch resident there, pats me on the back. He doesn't grimace or anything. He does, however, wipe his hand on his pant leg after. Then he says, "I think you got off plenty for all of us."

Then we're all laughing, except Daphne's mooning a little Tom's way, and walking again. Daphne and Emmett are still flanking me, but they wisely keep their hands to themselves.

Tom pipes up, in that relaxed, open, and bright way he has of talking, like people who live in non-abusive homes, people who've never been mocked, etc., etc., do. "So Brian said he has extra clothes in his gym locker. He gave me the combination."

I stop. "Wait? You think I'm staying?"

Daphne, Ted, and Emmett all give me a "duh" look. Like duh, it's an important night for your boyfriend. Of course, you should stay. I'm about to retort, "Hell fucking no," when Tom shrugs and says, his voice soft and serious now, "The only way past is through."

I wheel around (Tom had fallen into step behind Daphne), genuinely astonished. He just laid some serious wisdom on me, more than I ever would have given him credit for possessing, being a jock and all. Granted he plays baseball, not football, and he's not super popular. But he's not artsy or geeky. Not an outcast.

I think he thinks I don't get it. So he explains, "You'll never live the name down if you act like it bothers you."

I tilt my head and continue staring, appraising. Maybe he has been teased or has suffered in some other way. But when he pats my back again and grins, tossing off a jaunty, "Come on, Jizz-man" as he walks purposely toward the boy's locker room, I shake my head. Nah. No way.

A couple minutes later, I'm alone in the locker room. I unbutton and pull off my shirt, wrestle out of my jeans, and then peel off my underwear and socks. They're both pink now. As I drop my clothes onto the floor, each item in turn slithers and coils. Just as I'm about to walk into the showers, my cell phone beeps. Not a full ring like when someone is actually calling. Must be a text. That sinking in, I jump and run. Fuck. My cell. I frantically dig my phone out of my front right pocket and smile a relieved smile when a number pops up on the screen. I smile even more brightly when I see that it's Brian's. I press the right top select button, indicating that I wish to read the message. It says, "Mrs. N's throwing a hissy fit. Her cake. Don't shower. Wanna lick frosting off you."

Just then Daphne and Tom walk around the corner. Daphne squeals, "Justin!" I grab the towel Tom procured for me and cover my junk. Tom asks, "Who called?"

"Um …"

Daphne, after peeking through her fingers to make sure the coast is clear, strides up to me. She reaches out and, before I can dodge her bright red pincers (Emmett had further diverted himself while we were supposed to be studying by painting her nails), grabs my phone.

At that point, I manage to stutter an answer to Tom's question (Tom's still looking at me expectantly), "just…just my mom. You know, checking up on me."

After reading the text Daphne teases, "Your mom, huh?" I glare at her. She smiles, giddily, at me. And, unbeknownst to both of us, Tom walks behind Daphne and glances at the phone over her shoulder. When I finally notice him standing there, my eyes widen in horror. Daphne, after seeing my wide, horror-filled eyes, turns and jumps. Then she tosses the phone to me. It goes careening toward the floor. I barely manage to catch it but, in the process, drop the towel. With a look of shock marring his usually cheerful calm, Tom stares at me, me in the buff, with a not-quite flaccid penis (I'd been imagining Brian licking various parts of me when they walked in), holding my phone.

TBC…in a little while


	24. More Secrets and Lots of Real Life

The locker room is so quiet that I can hear Daphne breathing. I can't be sure Tom's breathing though. He's standing rigid, like a statue. Motionless and soundless. Daphne and I are both staring at Tom, and Tom is staring at me, with unblinking eyes.

Fuck. He looks nauseous or something.

Okay, so don't panic. Don't panic. Maybe Tom didn't see that the text was from Brian. Maybe he thinks I have a girlfriend. A very slutty girlfriend with a frosting fetish. Or … maybe he thinks my mom and I (shudder), you know, do it. Yeah. That'd be better. Okay, maybe not.

Chances are, he saw that the text was from Brian. Chances are, he finds the idea that Brian and I are gay revolting. But I can't be sure. I don't know how to find out, not without outing myself and, even worse, Brian. So instead, I ask, "Um … you have Brian's locker combination, right?"

Tom shakes his head and blinks a couple of times, as though waking from a dream. "Oh. Yeah." Then he averts his eyes and clears his throat. I blush when I realize what he's ahem-ing about (my full frontal nudity). I grab the towel and wrap it around my waist. Tom swallows hard and steps over the bench (to get to Brian's locker). I suddenly find the floor interesting. It's a light brown linoleum with elliptical flecks that kind of look like paramecium. When I hear Tom lift the lock mechanism and the door swing open, I look up. Tom glances away quickly. Then just as quickly, he steps back over the bench and moves a few paces closer to the door. That's when Emmett and Ted walk in.

Emmett is aghast. He exclaims, "You're not even close to dressed! Hurry. They just opened the voting for the homecoming court!"

I nod absently. I'm trying not to stare at Tom, but not knowing whether he knows is killing me. So I keep peeking at him and then looking away.

Who am I kidding? The way he's been acting, he must know. My life is over. Now everyone at school will find out about Brian. Brian'll get kicked off the team and lose his chance of getting a football scholarship. And then, then, he'll start hating me and kick me to the curb. Yeah, I know. That's the last thing I should be worried about. But I am. I don't want to lose Brian. Just the thought makes me feel all hollow inside.

Tom brings me out of my head with a soft cough. "Um, why don't we go outside, give Justin privacy while he changes?"

Daphne, who has been standing in the same spot since Tom saw the text, swallows hard and nods. "Yeah, let's."

Daphne tries to take Tom's hand, but he shakes her off and leaves. Emmett, finally noticing that something is off, looks at me and then Daphne in turn. Questioningly. Daphne tries to smile. Tries and fails. It comes out as more of a grimace. Then she follows Tom out. Emmett looks back at me, but I turn around.

Emmett says softly, "I found a plastic bag for your clothes. I'll just leave it here." A few seconds later, I hear Emmett and Ted shuffle out, but I don't bother looking. I just grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt (a Steelers T-shirt) from Brian's locker and start to dress. I feel like I'm going to a funeral. I dress as slowly as I can. But when I slip Brian's T-shirt over my head, it smells so much like Brian, that I have to sit down. I bend over and lift the shirt up a bit, burying my face in it. I close my eyes and breathe in. Breathing Brian in. I sit there for a couple minutes. Then I slide my feet into my sneakers, stand, and squish over to the sinks (and the mirrors).

I laugh when I see myself, drowning in Brian's clothes, face and hair still covered in frosting. Thankfully, the frosting is all dry and crackly now. I brush the big patches off my face and run my fingers through my hair a few times. I glance down at the floor when I'm done. Looks like I have a bad, bad case of dandruff. I laugh a little but then walk zombie-like back to Brian's locker. I'm about to close it, but … this is a rare opportunity to get some insight into a part of Brian I don't really understand. Of course, one might characterize my 'gaining insight' as snooping, but Brian didn't exactly ask when he started paging through my sketch pads. It's just tit for tat.

Right?

Yeah.

Yeah.

So I do a little inventory. Extra pads and two pairs of shoes lie at the bottom of the locker. An extra pair of pants and a few shirts (some long sleeved, some short sleeved) hang from hooks. A tube of Bengay, a roll of gauze, and a roll of bandage tape sit on the shelf at the top. A schedule is taped to the inside of the door. I guess I should be glad he doesn't have pictures of half-naked girls hanging there, gazing at him from behind ginormous boobs. On an unexplainable impulse, I run my fingers lightly down his schedule. I sigh as I look at it. Brian works so hard. Just as I'm having that thought, my fingers reach the bottom. That's when I feel something weird. Two edges. Hmmm. I move the schedule to the side (it's only taped at the top). My eyes widen then. Underneath the schedule is a sketch I made of Brian. The one that so tickled his fancy when he slept over, the one I'd interpolated of him naked. I just stare. When had he taken it? And why the hell did he have it in his locker? What if someone saw?

I jump when I hear Daphne's voice. "Are you done yet? The voting's almost over!"

I release the schedule, letting it fall back into place over the sketch and then slam Brian's locker door and spin the dial. I turn around and smile. For a minute or two, I forgot all about Tom. But then, I see Daphne's eyes. They're dim, though she tries to smile.

Right. Life over.

I scoop up my clothes and toss them into the bag Emmett found. A garbage bag. Lovely. And it's clear. I sigh. Then I throw it over my shoulder, nudge Daphne, and head out.

Daphne and I walk across the field, back near where the refreshments table has been resurrected. It holds two new bowls of punch and two big tubs of vanilla ice cream. I wisely keep a wide berth. Emmett hands me a paper ballot and one of those half pencils. I skip Homecoming King, Queen, and Princess, scanning the potential Princes until I see Brian's name. I smile brightly as I check off his name. Yes, I know exactly how sad I am. I hand it back to Emmett and he runs, actually runs, over to the red and white crepe paper covered ballot box and slips it in. Then he runs back, smiles, and does one of his jump-claps. He half-whispers, half-laughs, "He's sooo gonna win!"

I laugh and shake my head. "I doubt our five votes are gonna tip it for him. He'll probably win by a landslide anyway."

Emmett shrugs. "Voting is our civic duty, and every vote counts."

"Since when are you his biggest cheerleader?"

"Come on. Don't tell me it won't make you happy, not just cause he's your (dropping his voice a shade lower) you-know-what, but because (again dropping his voice a shade) one of _us_ will be infiltrating the Homecoming Court."

I shrug and smile. "Yeah, that would be pretty cool." But as always it seems, my happiness is short-lived. Three guys, three of Brian's Neanderthals, run up and dump melted ice cream over my head. They yell, "Jizz-man" and laugh. About twenty people turn to look and start laughing, too. Daphne mutters, "Assholes" and grabs a bunch of napkins off the refreshments table. Just as she hands them to me, Tom, who I hadn't even noticed standing behind us, steps forward, grabs one of the Neanderthals by the shoulder, turning him around, and then punches him. Square in the face. And not just once. The first punch sends the Neanderthal to the ground (not bad considering that Tom's kind of skinny and not all bulked up like most of the football players are). Everyone who sees is stunned. Me so much so that I let the ice cream drip down my face, even though I have napkins in my hand. Then Tom's on top of the guy, holding him down with one hand and punching him with the other. A few punches in, Brian comes out of nowhere, pulling Tom off the guy and yelling, "Tom. Stop. Stop. (Tom was struggling to get free and back to the other guy). What the fuck are you doing?"

Tom pushes Brian, hard, causing Brian to fall back a step and hisses, "What _you_ should be doing." Then in a whisper, he says, "If it were Daphne …"

Fuck. He does know. And I'm baffled. The way he was looking at me in the locker room … you'd think he hated me as much as the football players did. Why would he stand up for me?

Brian looks like he's just been struck. He swallows hard and turns toward the swarm of adults heading our way. Brian's coach, a tall guy with salt and pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an angry face (even when he's smiling) reaches Brian first. He barks, "What happened?"

The Neanderthal Tom felled is standing now, cradling his eye.

"Nothing, coach. Just horsing around."

The coach looks at the Neanderthal and then back at Brian. "Horsing around?"

"You know how it goes. Shit talking taken a little too far…"

The coach addresses the Neanderthal, "Wilson, that true?"

Wilson (I'm guessing his last name) looks at Brian questioningly but then turns back to the coach and replies, firmly, "Yeah, coach. We were just horsing around. Sorry." He looks down at the ground, contrite.

The coach sighs. "Well cut the shit out. We got parents and alumni here." He gives both Brian and Wilson a stern look and then strides off, rejoining the other adults. They start bombarding him with questions.

I turn away (I'd been staring at Brian) and start wiping the ice cream off my face. Daphne grabs Tom's hand and leads him away, toward the parking lot. She's smiling brightly. He's smiling a little shyly. I peek back over at Brian. He's talking to Wilson. "Did you really want me to tell coach that you were causing trouble? Now, with all the big wigs here? You know how important this Saturday's game is. Do you want to lose your fucking eligibility?"

"No. I guess not."

Is football all that matters to him? I sigh and look away again. Back at Daphne and Tom's retreating forms. They're still smiling. That should be Brian and me. Life really fucking sucks. But I guess it could be worse. It looks like Tom's not planning to say anything. And it was nice for someone to stick up for me. I just wish ...

Apparently reading my mind, Emmett rubs my shoulder. I look back at him and smile weakly. That's when I catch sight of Brian. Staring at me. Wilson and the rest of his posse are gone. Probably back to the other side of the field where the rest of the football players (except Brian, of course) are standing. Our eyes meet. Brian looks … I don't know. I don't know. Very unhappy to say the least. He clenches a fist and closes his eyes. Then he turns and walks away.

I shove the napkins into my (well, Brian's) pocket, throw the trash bag back over my shoulder, and start walking in the other direction.

Emmett calls after me, "Where you going?"

"Home."

"Wanna ride?"

I shake my head.

I planned to walk home, but I end up at Brian's truck. I drop the trash bag onto the grass next to it and then sit down. I lie down, push the trash bag under my head, and extend my legs. I didn't even realize how tired I was (it'd been a long, long day), but, seconds after I lie down, my eyes droop. The next thing I know, Brian's waking me up. Rubbing my cheek and whispering, "Justin. Sunshine. Time to go home."

I smile. Hell fucking no. "I want to go to your house."

Brian doesn't even hesitate. "Okay." He pulls me to a standing position, grabs the trash bag and throws it over his shoulder, and then, then he kisses me.

Gently on the lips.

I shiver.

Fuck, I'm lost.

I'd endure a million days like this just to be with Brian.

Brian walks over to the passenger's side, tosses the garbage bag into the back, and then unlocks and opens the (my) door.

"So who won?"

Brian laughs. "Who do you think?" He gestures toward the truck. "Come on, get in."

He actually waits for me to climb in and then shuts the door for me. I know I should probably take offense. I'm not a girl. But still, it's kinda sweet.

TBC…(I hope this afternoon)

The next part will be all Brian and Justin. Justin will eventually start fighting his own battles. He's not pissed enough yet.


	25. Burning, Swelling, and Bursting

Brian drives for a few minutes before either of us say anything. I'm not really sure what to say. I'm kind of embarrassed about the mockery. Being characterized as "Jizz-man" is hardly good for my self-esteem. On the flip side, who in hell would want to be Jizz-man's partner? But I'm also … I don't know. This may sound weak, but I like the idea of being protected sometimes. Not all the time. Just sometimes. And if anyone is to attempt it, to try to defend my honor, such as it is, I want it to be Brian, not Tom. Failing that, Brian could at least speak to me in public. I know. I know. He can't. That simple act could wreck his life. I understand. I do. That doesn't mean I like it. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

I imagine that Brian's thinking some of what I'm thinking cause he keeps stealing glances. But every time our eyes meet, he looks away, so I can't read the expression therein.

When one of us finally speaks, it's Brian. He says simply, "I need to make a stop before we go to my house."

I smile softly. "Okay." I'm excited about having sex with Brian again, but I'm still a little too hurt to muster one of my Sunshine smiles. I figure he needs to buy milk or something. Needless to say, I'm shocked when Brian pulls up in front of a bar. With loud dance music coming from it (it's loud even outside), and lots and lots of half-naked men walking around in front and in the alley beside it. Clearly this is a gay bar. I stare at Brian in shock as he gets out. Before shutting the door, he says, "Come on."

What?

I do (get out), but I do so slowly. I creep around the back of the truck and approach Brian, who's in the process of stripping (he took off his shoulder pad thingies and other pads before coming out to the truck after the rally), but now, he's taking off his jersey and changing shoes. When I get close, he pulls me to him and quickly peels his Steelers shirt off of me. Then he pulls me toward the alley and the door to the bar.

"Brian … I … what?" I stammer.

Brian smiles back at me. "Just come on."

I continue to protest, "Do you have a fake ID? Cause _I_ don't have a fake ID."

Brian sighs. I can't hear him do it. The music's too loud, but he sighs so hard that I see his chest heave, even from behind him. He doesn't say anything though. Just keeps pulling me, like a lamb to the slaughter … I start imagining horrible things … being laughed at, being arrested, being spotted by a parent (though I can't imagine my pregnant formerly high-class mother or my stuffy, mean, and most likely homophobic father ever having cause to be here). I'm so lost in my fears that the next thing I know we're up the steps being stared down by a tall built blond man, with an incredible tan, wearing a loin cloth. I think he oiled himself up, too. Either that or his sweat is really, really shiny.

The guy doesn't even blink. He just gestures with his head, indicating that we should go in.

What?

Once inside, I lean close to Brian and ask, "Why didn't he card us?"

Brian laughs. Then he moves his lips right against my ear and whispers, slow and super husky, "Cause we're young and hot." The warm puffs of Brian's breath cause a delicious shiver to wiggle through my body. I'm instantaneously hard. Then Brian's pulling me again. He's been holding my hand the entire time, but now, he threads our fingers together. As we walk through the bar, I look around. It seems like everyone is staring at us. At Brian with hunger and at me with jealousy. I don't see the guys who want me. I feel them. Pinching nipples and squeezing my ass, which is actually framed to great effect in Brian's jeans, since he's taller (a lot), but skinnier (a little) than me. When we reach the other side of the bar, Brian keeps pulling. We go through a tiny door and into … I don't know. It looks like a long hallway with turns. It's hot and dim (and glowing red). And guys are everywhere. Oh my God. They're all … you know … having sex and giving each other blow jobs. Not at the same time, of course. Oh. Nope. There's a threesome doing just that. Brian stops at the first turn. People in the first hallway segment (the one we just walked through) and the second can see us. Some actually turn to watch.

Brian pushes me up against a pillar diagonal from the corner where the two hallway segments meet and then starts undoing my (well his) jeans.

"Brian … what are you doing?"

Brian laughs and shakes his head. "Give it a second. You'll figure it out."

I blush. God I feel stupid. I know what he's doing. I'm just wondering why here, now, in front of all these people we don't know.

But the second I feel his warm breath against my shaft, I no longer care. Brian runs his hands all over my ass, gently and slowly, and just hovers near my dick, breathing, and looking up at me. The sight of him on his knees is enough to bring me to the edge. I pinch my nipple. Some of the guys who did it actually hurt me; I'm hoping the pain will help me keep control. And it might. Or might have. But Brian sees me do it once and then he starts doing it, and … I guess I'm just a slut for him. Any time he touches me, in any way, my body responds, burning, swelling, and bursting. Plan B works okay (biting my lip so hard that it bleeds), but it, too, has unforeseen consequences. Brian stands, leans in, and licks my bottom lip, where it's bleeding. He sucks on that spot gently and then sucks my entire lower lip into his mouth. Then he slides his fingers through my sugary hair, pulls me closer (while also growling softly), and plunges his tongue into my mouth. He spends a good two or three minutes exploring my mouth, plunging his tongue deeper and deeper, drawing me nearer and nearer, and even biting my lips and pulling my hair. When he finally pulls away, Brian's counteracted plan B, a million times over.

Then he's on his knees again. This time, he's less indirect with his ministrations. He licks my shaft, from base to tip, on all sides. He draws his tongue so slowly along it that I shiver, many, many times. He swirls his tongue over the head and then, then, he deepthroats my dick. Seriously, he takes the entire thing into his mouth in one go and then starts sucking hard, bobbing his head up and down fast, so fast. I hold onto the pillar I'm leaning against and close my eyes as wave after wave of heat rushes through me. When Brian slides his hands back around my ass and starts pulling me closer on each downstroke, pushing my dick deeper into his throat and even swallowing around the tip, I moan, loudly (and keep moaning; over and over, I cry out, "Brian, oh fuck, yes, yes, Brian.") And clench my right hand so that my nails are digging into my skin. I never want this to end, but I'm so close. Any second I'll erupt. And when Brian starts humming, that's exactly what I do. I shut my eyes tight, shout, "Ohhhh, ohhhhhh, ohhhhhhhhh!" and explode into his mouth, with a force I don't think I've ever managed before. Afterward, my chest is heaving and my heart beating so fast I'm afraid that it, too, might explode. I let my eyes flutter open. The first thing I see is Brian still on his knees, licking his lips. God. I don't think I've ever seen anything sexier.

Brian stands then and pulls my (well, his) jeans up and then buttons and zips them, all the while laying soft, slow open-mouthed kisses along my neck. He takes my hand, threads our fingers together, and then starts pulling me out of the hallway room.

I protest (ironic, on the way in _and_ the way out), "Wait, but … don't you want me to …"

Brian stops, leans in, and whispers, "I fully expect you to reciprocate. At my house."

"I don't understand."

"This was for you, just you, because I … nothing." He kisses my cheek sweetly (even looking at me a little sweetly) and then starts leading me out again.

Like I said, one touch and Brian has me burning, swelling, and bursting. Even my heart.

TBC…


	26. Bedroom Rant

Things are always okay, until you're alone. Yeah, I know. That's like saying things are always okay, until they're not. "What an amazing insight into the human condition!"

So yeah, things are always okay until you're alone. Then the glamour wears off (yeah, I read the Dune series. A million years ago, when I was a stupid kid. A _million_ years ago. _When_ I was a stupid kid. Yeah. Let's go with that). Then, in the light of day, your magical night with the most beautiful guy in the world turns out to have been a booty call with someone who can barely remember your name. Or alternately, as in my case, with someone who feels the need to pretend not to know your name.

But this feeling. It didn't crop up immediately. I should probably be embarrassed by that. Maybe I am. I don't know. But … but (incoherent jabbering and helpless gesturing) … it's Brian … BRIAN. Chestnut hair that glints red and gold in the sun, bronze skin, chiseled chest (which I've taken to licking after practice … that's right, I lick the sweat right off of him … what does that tell you?), hazel eyes that morph depending on his mood and the lighting from brown flecked with gold to sea green…eyes that sear, burning into me … transforming me into a puddle of goo, soft but firm lips, strong hands, and his dick … huge. HUGE. BRIAN. But what really gets me is the softness. He's a football player and a guy, and not just any guy, but a guy who could have anyone. ANYONE. But fuck. FUCK. The way he touches me sometimes, his fingers whispering across my skin. And the look in his eyes, the expression on his face. His eyes get shiny and he seems scared. It's … I … I don't know. I'm fucking this up. I don't have the words. It's like he thinks I'm something to be cherished. Like he can't help himself (the way I feel with him all the time). But there's something else, too. Something more. Like he's lost. And hurting.

Whatever "it" is … it drives me wild. I just want to lick, kiss, and suck on every inch of his body. To consume him. And to be so close that it's like we're one person.

I know how nuts that sounds. But God. In the moment, it's the best feeling in the world.

So yeah. Brian. His glamor lingers long after he's gone. Like he delivers it by proxy through some ranged touch spell (I never ever played D&D. Nope. That's my story and I'm sticking to it).

Right. You want to know more than the who and the how (I'm taking a journalism class as an elective this year). I think I got some why in there. (Wrinkling my nose). I dunno.

Okay…so let's start with the simple parts.

When: Almost a week after the Homecoming rally.

Where: I'm alone in my room lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Oh and kicking my bed post. Sometimes I kind of wish I was the type of guy who owned balls (not those kind—and contrary to public opinion—thank you Brian's minions—I do have them…PS: get your mind out of the gutter. Actually, don't. These days, that's where mine usually is. But still, I meant like a basketball or something. Right now, I'd settle for a bouncy ball. Throwing something against the wall would probably 'settle my nerves,' as my mom always says).

Who: Me and Brian

What: Going to the Homecoming dance (tonight), but separately. We won't even be able to talk to each other, let alone dance.

Why: Brian failed to realize that the peer pressure for him, Homecoming Prince (my prince and yours), to attend would be staggering. His coach even joined in, if you can believe it. Something about teamwork … the dance's being a celebration of not only this specific version of the Bobcats football team and football in general but also sport itself … and the obligation Brian must fulfill, as team captain, not only to participate in the celebration but also to lead by example or some shit. I don't remember it all. But yeah, he's going. Now just cause he's going doesn't mean I have to … and maybe I shouldn't. But I don't know. What's worse? Going stag and being reminded for the millionth time that I'm not even supposed to be on his radar … that I'm a dork/freak/whatever, whereas Brian is a cool kid, the coolest kid … blah, blah, blah. Or staying home. Alone. Stuffing my face and watching _Transformers_. For the tenth time. Yeah, I'm totally going.

TBC…


	27. The Dance, Part 1

I'm wearing one of my Dad's suits. It's at least two sizes too big and smells like scotch and cigars.

The moment I enter the gym, I scan it frantically for Brian. I pause a beat on every person who isn't him.

Conveying calm. Detachment.

Yup.

My heart is trilling, and I'm panting.

Don't tell, okay?

Coldplay is playing.

Specifically "Fix You."

The organ is reverberating through me. I feel electric.

Pinging of the piano. Ouch.

Oh. There.

Brian.

He's standing in the center of a group of guys. All football players. Wearing a sleek black suit jacket, a black dress shirt, and black dress pants. No tie. In that, he should be on a catwalk. And fuck, the entire ensemble frames his body so perfectly (I fidget uncomfortably in my ill-fitting old-fashioned suit).

His hair's tousled slightly. Like he's some demi-god model in an underwear ad … or a hot chick in some cheesy movie (for whom there always seems to be a gentle breeze blowing).

And I think he might actually have used gel.

Wow.

Oh God.

I swallow hard.

(He just turned toward me).

Tears actually spring to my eyes then. Just a little. None fall. I feel like someone is squeezing my heart. Hard.

No longer breathing.

In that moment, I understand. Everything.

Brian could destroy me.

And he probably will.

For the briefest flicker of a second, I have one of those crazy urges. Like when you're on a rooftop looking down 20 stories…and something inside you whispers…Jump.

Yes, Brian could destroy me.

I almost want him, too.

To burn, rip, through me. This complete vulnerability, this full consciousness of my weakness, is simultaneously the best and the worst feeling in the world.

I'm thrumming. Nauseous. My body is prickling awake.

Was I always alive?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But I'm thinking, do anything to me, just don't ever stop.

Okay.

Flip side.

Violent urges.

(Brian's looking at some other guy).

I bite my lower lip. Hard. Is he … is he staring at that other guy's ass?

My stomach bottoms out.

Panic. Did he even see me?

He looked right at me, or seemed to …

I don't know what I want the answer to be. He didn't see me, so he doesn't know I'm watching him check someone else out … or he did and doesn't care.

How the fuck is _that_ protecting his "manly" heterosexual image? Well, if he doesn't care, why should I? I set my jaw and stride purposely his way. I'm maybe five steps from stomping on his foot when he turns toward me again. I freeze.

This time, I know he sees me. He'd turned, a little woodenly, in response to some joke one of his minions had told. His eyes are wide and laughing. Shiny. And when he sees me, I know because a smile dances across his lips, and his eyes light up.

His eyes light up.

Well more.

I can't pinpoint the cause, but something seems off.

He starts walking my way. What the fuck?

Something's off. It's more than his strange behavior. Though that's strange enough. Something about his stride.

I start backing away. And then veer to the left, away from the stage (on which Brian will be later crowned Prince) and away from Brian and his minions.

I don't look back.

But I know Brian's following me.

I push through the door, bursting into the hall and down. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. This morning, I wanted nothing more than for Brian to acknowledge me publicly. But now that he seems to want to, I'm terrified. What's changed?

Brian actually runs down the hall after me. I can hear pounding on the linoleum. But I don't hear it until he's a few steps behind me. There's silence and then he's on me. And I mean _on _me. He runs into me, grabs me by the waist, and spins us around and through an open door. We fall. I land on top of him. Brian grunts. Just like on my first day at Carnegie. I look into his eyes. I know I'm gaping. The opposite of smooth. But I can't help it. I remember what he said to me then: _"My pop always said blonds were frisky, but, really, pouncing on me like that is a bit over the top. You'd better be careful. This is how pretty young things get a reputation for being easy. After that, you can forget about getting the meet-the-parents invite. And what respectable boy would take you to prom?" _His jocularity (_**jock**_ularity, get it, nudge nudge—I'll be here all week) … his easy goingness (is that a word? Hey, I'm Shakespeare) … and what he said seem grotesque now. I'd met as much of _the parents_ as I wanted to (his father's slippers). His _pop_'s giving him advice about girls … I couldn't see it. And the crack about prom … Ouch.

Still he'd chased me down the hall.

I breathe out, let my eyes flutter closed and then open, shrug (in response to the memory of Brian's first words to me), and purr, "I guess you were right about me. I'm a complete slut, and no boy, respectable or not, will take me to prom."

Brian doesn't respond with words. And the expression in his eyes, a flicker, comes and goes so quickly … I'm not sure what it means. Just like during our first tumble, he flips me over, growls (okay, that was new), and kisses my lips gently.

I melt. Of course. I think I even mmm and sigh at the same time. Mmm-sigh.

So I'm surprised when Brian asks, "Why are you here?" I don't understand the question. His body language and tone are inscrutable. His hands are flat against the floor, and other than lifting his head up, he hasn't moved. He's holding his body rigid, but his voice is even, with a touch of lilt. Is he teasing? And his eyes … they're still bright.

"What?"

Brian repeats, in exactly the same tone, only slower, a little gentler, "Why are you here?"

I'm confused. All of this is beyond confusing. It's Brian and it's not. He's acting the way he did when we met. All fun and games. Like he has all the answers and no fears. But I know better now. Suddenly defensive (I don't like being confused), I hiss, "Weird question from the guy who chased me down the hall, pushed me into an empty classroom, and pulled me on top of him. Why are _you_ here?" And … I fall back on my resentment. Because it makes sense. Brian's staying in the closet. Wanting me in there with him. Putting football and college ahead of me, us, and the truth. That's what makes sense. "And what would your Neanderthal pals think if they saw us like this?"

Brian pushes himself up, extending his arms and legs, and just hovers there for a moment. A couple droplets of sweat glisten on his brow. He rolls his lips into his mouth and regards me coolly. I'm about to explode. I can't read him. Brian replies, just as coolly, "I wasn't the one who ran." Brian pushes himself up onto his knees and shrugs his shoulders. But just once and slowly. "If you'd stayed in the gym, you might have found out." I detect nothing in his voice. I can't tell whether he's relieved or annoyed. Or angry. He jumps up and swings around. He has his back to me now.

Incredulously, I ask, "What were you planning to do?" I feel like we're playing chicken. Maybe we always were. I prod, faithful resentment by my side, "Kiss me?" Nothing. "Ask me to dance?" Still nothing.

Brian shrugs his shoulders again. Again just once. Again slow. "Now you'll never know."

I'm going crazy. I want to shout, "REACT, damn you." But I don't.

It's dark. But moonlight filters in through the blinds (they're open slightly). Brian appears to be staring at the floor. After a full minute of silence, Brian asks softly, "Did you see the game?"

Nothing but deep admiration now. "We won. You ran the game-winning touchdown. It was amazing. When that one guy went to tackle you, you dodged and actually jumped over him!"

Brian huffs a laugh. I didn't think it possible, but he lets his head fall lower. In a husky whisper, he replies, "Yeah. Amazing."

I reach out for him, but when my fingers graze his back, and just barely, Brian flinches. "Brian?"

I'd been looking at Brian for the last fifteen minutes, first in the gym and then in this dark, empty classroom. In fact, I'd studied him. But somehow, I hadn't managed to really _see_ him. I do now. I notice a great many things. He's holding his body rigid and near where I touched him are … I don't know … sort of flattened bumps. One looks rectangular, and after I trace it lightly with a finger, I realize it's a tag. But there are three more … they're roundish, and they look as big as baseballs.

TBC…


End file.
